Powerless
by Jennifer Jolie
Summary: Continuation of X3: do they need curing if they can learn control? Jean's powers become more than she can handle. ACTIONPACKED Chap 14 won't disappoint: 'I am Phoenix... fire and life incarnate.' Phoenix and Pyro regroup, but to what end?
1. Chapter 1

Did it feel to anyone else that The Last Stand wasn't over? I feel like I've only watched half a movie, so much more that could have been done. And _without_ excessive character death. Yes, if I continue this, Scott and the professor will come back.

Movieverse, changing parts of X3. Will try to draw off comics. As of writing this I've only seen the movie once (darn Chemistry exam to study for!) and if I'm notified of any mistakes I'll come back and fix them.

--

"Jean... it's over."

She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder. Her whole body was cold, and she didn't know how long she'd been standing there. A hot wind blew suddenly into her face, and the stink of hot metal and burning rubber made her eyes tear.

"Jean?" Logan tightened his grip on her shoulder, brow creasing with concern.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Inhaling slowly, she realized she didn't know what to say. She swallowed. "Logan?"

His face broke into a tired, relieved smile. "I knew it... Jean..." He shook himself mentally. "Look, we've gotta get out of here. The jet's alright, Storm's just rounding up the kids..."

Logan broke off. Jean was staring at a point behind him, transfixed, where Magneto lay motionless on the charred ground, still staring at the needles protruding from his chest. The cure. Jean's eyes were wide with shock.

_Oh, shit. She doesn't remember. _Logan grasped her hand tightly. "I'll explain later, Jean, I promise. But we have to leave now."

He started to steer her towards the Blackbird. She resisted for a moment, looking confused, but then wordlessly followed.

Ororo walked quickly around the jet once more for a final inspection. Everything certainly seemed fine, and if things weren't – well, there wasn't much she could do about it now. Turning to leave, something crunched delicately under her boot. She glanced down. It was a half-full cartridge of cure syringes, peeking out from the splintered plastic remains of a soldier's gun.

She glanced up sharply, catching sight of a flash of red – Logan was helping Jean back into the jet. Jean didn't seem to be fully aware of what was going on.

Ororo looked down again. She'd only broken one...

"Come on!" Logan yelled, motioning for her to hurry before disappearing inside the Blackbird.

Bending down, Ororo deftly scooped up the syringes and pocketed them before taking off at a run.

--

They were in the top drawer in her wardrobe. She hadn't looked at them since she'd stowed them away in there, just yesterday. Four shots.

Ororo couldn't sit still. Not while knowing Jean was in the mansion – just a couple of rooms down from hers, actually. How could Logan have wanted to bring her back? After everything she'd done...

Ororo realized the drawer was open and she was turning a syringe over in her hands. _Now I'm going crazy._ The professor would've had to warn her again about the dangers of letting her mind wander like that.

_But now he's dead. Him, and Scott..._

Her fingers closed around the syringe and she got up. With fast, determined strides down the hallway, she found herself at Jean's door.

Suddenly feeling oddly embarrassed, Ororo knocked lightly. No answer.

She opened the door. Jean lay in the bed, asleep under a pile of blankets. No movement.

Just staring at the back of Jean's head was making Ororo jittery. Nervously, she took a few steps closer to the bed and waited. Her hand was shaking. Not good.

Ororo bared the needle and took another step towards the bed, holding her arm steady.

"Nothing to cure, eh?"

Ororo nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun around. Logan was leaning against the frame of the door, one eyebrow arched.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" she snapped, realizing how stupid she sounded, but anger rushing in to cover her surprise.

"Nothing's wrong with us," Logan mimicked, sneering. "There's nothing wrong with us, is there? So what're you trying to cure?"

"You saw what she did," Ororo hissed. "Her mutation's out of control. She's _dangerous_."

"She can learn control. That's what this school was built on." Logan looked her squarely in the eye. "Just because someone can't control her gifts doesn't mean you take them away from her."

"The professor thought he could teach her control," Ororo shot back. "He was her mentor since she came to this school, and even he knew he would have to keep a hold on her. And look what happened to him."

"But that wasn't Jean. Not the Jean we know."

Ororo tensed. "Jean was like a sister to me. We shared some times you could never understand."

"And I know Jean's still there. Please," Logan said, holding her gaze firmly, "let me talk to her. She'll come around."

Ororo was still holding the syringe poised in her hand. "I don't know, Logan. I'm no telepath. If I knew some other way..."

Logan put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll talk to her when she wakes up. Put the cure down."

Sighing, Ororo set the needle down on the bedside table. Beside it were the ruby-quartz glasses Scott used to wear when he was asleep. She held them up.

"Remember..."

"I know, Ororo," Logan said heavily. He opened the door and nodded meaningfully towards the hallway. With a last wary glance at Jean's still form, Ororo walked out of the room.

Jean waited until she heard the click of the lock before she let out the shuddering sob she'd been holding onto since Ororo had knocked on the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Faugh, angstfest. Should get better after this, though. I don't know if I have the capacity to handle the Dark Phoenix-level, epic resurrection-filled fic I originally conceived, but if I keep getting response I'll try to keep doing them!

--

Logan pushed the wooden chair a few inches closer to the bed. He'd been sitting on that chair, keeping vigil, until he'd decided to run to the kitchen for a sip of water. Apparently he hadn't come back a moment too soon.

He glared at the cure syringe resting atop the small table. _Dammit, Ororo._ He would bet money that Ororo hadn't saved just one. Thankfully, apparently he wasn't on her hit list, but who knew who else was?

He leaned forward and the chair creaked slightly.

"Don't go," Jean said suddenly, turning to face him. Her face was streaked with tears. "You said... we'd talk."

He couldn't help smiling. "You remember?"

She wiped her eyes furiously on the sheet and sat up. "I remember everything, Logan," she said bitterly. "Everything. Conscious and subconscious."

The tone of her voice made Logan's breath catch in his throat. "Are you Jean now? Or are you the Phoenix, messing with my head?"

"I'm always Jean. And I'm always the Phoenix." She sounded sad. "The professor sealed off a part of me for twenty years, but my actions are my own. And I remember _all _of it."

_What do you say to something like that? _Logan made a vague gesture with his hands. "You were awake just now?"

Jean gave him a wry smile. "I probably heard more than you did." She tapped the side of her head with a finger. "Ororo was thinking some things very loudly."

Logan caught her stealing a glance at the cure out of the corner of her eye. A shadow passed across her face. Almost inaudibly, she added, "I think I listened in a little."

Immediately she looked stricken. Logan knew – the strictest code of telepaths was the respect they held for privacy. He remembered how hesitant she'd been to read his mind, even with his permission – hell, he'd had to provoke her into it.

"That's exactly how it was, _exactly_ like that," Jean whispered. Her eyes were bright. "I'd look up from whatever I was doing... and then it was like waking up after a long sleep and remembering what I'd done the day before. I knew what I was doing. I always knew what I was doing, but... dimly. Just now, I could feel Ororo's presence outside, she was anxious and her mind was wide open. Why not?"

Logan wasn't sure who her last few words were addressed to.

"But... I think I _could_ control it." Jean eased herself into sitting cross-legged. "The question is..."

"Do you want to?" Logan finished. In that instant, he knew he could read her thoughts just as well as she could his.

Jean stared down at her lap. "In my old house, I could hear the professor... he said, 'Don't let it control you.' But I couldn't stop myself. _No, _that isn't true." Jean bit her lip, horrified. "It was _me_ doing it, _my_ mind. I was _furious. _Glass was breaking, the color was coming out of that old painting I always hated, I was _enjoying _it, Logan... I thought I was showing him that _he _couldn't control me."

Jean looked back up at him. "I can't handle it, Logan," she said simply. "All this power at once, bent to my every mood..." Jean pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead. "If I feel like listening to your thoughts, who's to stop me? What if I killed more people?"

Logan had a crushing feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was entirely the wrong person to be having this conversation with her. He was the one who'd just thrown out another set of clothes because he couldn't stand to wash the bloodstains out anymore. In a way, no one knew better than he how she felt – knew what it was like when the beast inside burst out of its cage, while the rational man in him simply looked on. Not trusting himself to speak, he sat on the edge of the bed beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. Logan had half-expected her to resist, but she didn't.

"I wish... I wish I could take it all back. I can't think straight. I don't know what to do. I've never felt so _powerless. _The professor, Scott... oh, God, Logan, Scott..."

To Logan, her heart was beating as loudly as a drum.

"Still there, Jeannie?" he whispered, after some time had elapsed. No answer. "Jeannie?"

"Yeah." She pulled away and turned to face him, her gaze hard, but not without remorse. "Ororo's right. I am dangerous."

"Jean..."

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. "There's a bottle of alcohol in the drawer."

He knew there was no point in talking any more. _So, she's come around._ He found the alcohol, moistened a cotton pad and swabbed her arm. Then, reluctantly, he picked up the syringe. The cure.

"Wait," Jean said suddenly.

She held out her hand.

"Give it to me."

Logan's eyes searched her face, but found only resolution there. "Jean...?"

"I'll do it myself," she said quietly.

Wordlessly, he gave her the syringe, and she didn't so much as blink as she slipped the needle under her skin.

Watching her push the plunger down seemed to last forever. Finally she withdrew the needle and eyed it critically.

"Every last drop," she affirmed, setting the empty syringe down. For a while she just stared ahead of her, waiting. Her lips moved silently, maybe counting something, Logan reasoned.

Finally she sighed and relaxed. She looked worn out.

"Feels almost good," Jean said softly. "It's quieter in my head now."

Logan looked away.

Jean focused her gaze on the light switch near the door, frowning slightly with concentration. It was the old, familiar look she used to have when she was struggling to use her telekinesis. Nothing happened. She sighed again.

_Back where we started, but everything different,_ Logan thought. _First you were dead, and you came back as someone else. Now, you're only human._

She had a tight, brave smile on her lips. Logan squeezed her hand. She was trembling. He knew she needed to sort things out for herself, alone. "Do you want to get some sleep?" he asked.

"Do I want to get some sleep? No," she said wryly. "But I think I'm going to have to."

"I'll be back after you wake up," he promised.

She nodded. "Thanks," she began awkwardly.

Logan chuckled. "Sure you don't want me to stick around, darlin'?"

That made her smile, and she shook her head. Without thinking, Logan bent and gently brushed his lips against her cheek. The corners of her mouth turned up slowly, and she rested her head on the pillow, but Logan had already seen.

Logan turned off the light and closed the door quietly behind him, feeling dazed. Had he done the right thing? Had _she_ done the right thing?

He felt like hell.

--

Please review if you have a moment, schizo Jean took me a while to bang out and I really want to know what you think could be adjusted. I read through this loads of times and I'd really appreciate feedback. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Because these amused me greatly:

"She wasn't Milk Chocolate Phoenix, she went Dark, Dark Phoenix!" -- Rebecca Romijn

"Wolverine is kind of chronically unable to control himself around beautiful women." -- Hugh Jackman

--

Yes, I know I'm being slow with this fic, but believe me, it's on my mind. Please don't stop reading and reviewing, peeps:) And on that very pressing issue, _of course_ the cure isn't permanent! Where did you think the rest of the story was going to come from?

Scott's return in this chapter is based on a rumored alternate ending which was never quite confirmed, so it's most likely fake, but I think it would've been _brilliant_. And Charles... there was hardly any way to bring him back that wasn't totally ridiculous, so I just went for it. I think it works, in a comic book way, but if you laughed out loud – know that I did too.

--

"We've got ourselves a live one," the doctor's aide was saying.

_Kept hearing her calling my name, it sounded like Jean... no one else heard..._

He was dimly aware of a rustling sound and the clink of rings. Through closed eyelids, he could tell the light had changed. The room was a little brighter.

_Took my bike, went out to Alkali Lake... but there was nothing but water, just water all around. I stood on a rock and looked out at all the water..._

Ah. So a curtain had been drawn. Was he in a room with a window? Did his room have a window?

_...didn't see anything, only water. Kept thinking of Jean, and water, and then I heard her voice again... went so crazy, I pulled off my glasses..._

"Some hikers brought him in. He must've been out there by himself for days."

_...could have been dangerous, but I felt like I _had_ to..._

"By himself? And they found him like this?" another voice was saying.

_Then there was a whirlpool, and a bright light from the water, and I was thrown backwards... I hit my head, maybe I passed out... thought I was dreaming when I looked up and saw Jean, but I touched her and I knew it was all real..._

"I don't know. But there's nothing else up there by the dam."

_She asked me to take off my glasses again. She said to trust her. And I always have... and she did something. Held the beams back, and then she looked me in the eye..._

"Well, he can't have knocked himself out. Who is he, anyway?"

_I closed my eyes, started to kiss her... but then I began to feel something was wrong. I started to feel hot, and then my skin felt like it was rippling, like water..._

"We found a driver's license. Apparently he lives at that mutant school in New York."

"Xavier's? You don't think he's a mutie?"

_I broke off to look at Jean, but I found myself staring at someone else entirely... she looked like Jean, but I've never seen her look so angry before... She said, "You thought I should've been held back, just because _you_ were powerless to control yourself." I didn't know what she meant..._

"Mutant or no, let's have a look at him..." Rubber, snapping. Surgical gloves, like Jean used to wear.

_I couldn't breathe. I yelled her name... Suddenly something flickered behind her eyes, and her face changed completely... like she broke concentration, or as though she was just realizing what she was doing. But she lost her hold on me..._

Scott felt a light pressure on his eyelids and below his eyes from rubber-tipped, impersonal fingers. He heard a voice say, "I'm going to take a look at the irises."

_...my eyes were open..._

Everything went red.

--

The phone was ringing. Logan glanced around. Normally one of the teenage students would've wet himself or herself getting it by now, but it kept on ringing. Maybe they were afraid of what they might hear. With a sigh, Logan picked up the headset.

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, hello," he said automatically. Inwardly he groaned. If Ororo tried to rename the place Munroe's School for Gifted Youngsters... but then again, probably even she wouldn't.

"Hello?" a woman's voice said breathlessly. "Um, Scott?"

Logan rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry, Scott Summers is-"

"Oh! Oh no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean- I know about..." She hesitated. "Is this Logan?"

"Yeah. Do I know you?"

"Yes, I'm Moira, Moira MacTaggert. I don't know if you recall, we met very briefly at..." Moira drew a shuddering breath. "Oh, my God. Oh, God. I can't believe I'm making this call..."

"Do you need something?" Logan asked, trying not to sound too perplexed.

Moira laughed shakily. "I don't know, maybe I do... I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm losing my head like this. What I meant to say is, is Jean there?"

"What?"

"Is Jean...? I'm guessing she made it out of Alcatraz... I've found something, no, some_one_, actually, and she has to... he says to put her on the phone, he wants to speak to her first."

Logan wondered if he'd missed a minor detail about Moira MacTaggert that involved her being completely out of her mind. "Jean's asleep," he said shortly. "Call back later."

There was a pause. Then, "She's awake, I think." In a voice tinged with desperation, she added, "Could you please go check? Please?"

Logan decided not to argue – Jean would know better how to deal with this anyway. Holding the phone in one hand, he went to Jean's room and knocked on the door. Sure enough, she opened it, still in her pajamas, hair tousled.

"Call from a Moira MacTaggert," he told her. "But she sounds a little..." He tapped the side of his head. Jean took the phone.

"Hey, Moira," she said casually.

"It's good to hear your voice again, Jean," answered a familiar voice – but not Moira's.

Jean's expression froze.

"P-professor?" she stammered. Logan looked oddly at her.

"Yes, it's me." She could almost hear his smile over the phone, exactly the way she remembered it.

"How- but you... but I..."

"Evolution leaps forward," Charles Xavier said gently.

--

"I understand. Thank you for telling me this early. Yes, we don't want to make a scene... I'll be there as soon as I can. Yeah, I'll bring back-up. _Agile_ back-up, got that. Right, as soon as I can."

Ororo snapped her cellphone shut, ashen-faced. Warren looked back uneasily at her.

"You wanted to help?" she shot at him.

"I thought you wanted me to teach Biology," he mumbled.

"Chemistry too," Ororo said grimly. "But I need help from someone like you _right now._"

She started to drag him forward. "Where are we going?" he protested.

"To get the jet. You can show your wings off later."

"I can't say I have experience in fetching very dangerous mutants," Warren said uncomfortably. "Not ones who're described to explode things on sight."

"You're going to get it, then. Come on, you can move faster than that!"

They strapped themselves into the jet, and Ororo yelled at Warren for spending time adjusting his seatbelt to accomodate his wings. Subdued, he hit redial and loudspeaker on Ororo's cellphone while she started up the engines.

"Just keep him under control until we get there, okay?" Ororo urged into the phone. "We're coming as fast as we can."

Warren rolled his eyes and pulled fruitlessly at his seatbelt.

"Bad things have happened to people who don't keep that on," Ororo hissed at Warren out of the corner of her mouth. Turning her attention back to the phone, she asked, "Can you describe him?"

"Brown hair," said the voice on the other end of the phone unhelpfully. He sounded close to hysterics.

"Yes...? How old is he?"

"Twenties, thirties, I don't know. Medium build," the voice added.

"_Describe_ him for me," Ororo persisted. "What color are his eyes?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, his eyes!" another voice wailed. "He's shooting these red beams out of his eyes!"

For a moment, it was like her heart had stopped, paralyzed by shock. She stared numbly at the blinking lights on the controls of the Blackbird.

"We're going to try and knock him out for now, and then you're taking him off our hands," the first voice continued, now trembling with anger. "I don't know why we bother, really. Clearly, you _mutants_ are all homicidal!"

The call went dead. Ororo bit her lip, forcing herself to stay calm. _Steady hands, girl, steady hands._

--

Poll: should I remolecularize Xavier's body too, or does that just go too far out? And what should've happened to Scott? He can't have partially demolecularized, but d'you think he'd been disfigured? I'm reluctant to even muss up his hair. cries Need to know what you guys think, though... waves at review button


	4. Chapter 4

I think it turned cheesier and less angsty, I might even change the categories soon! And I couldn't bear to muss up Scott. Tough! I'm unhappy with how I've written Jean, she's far too wimpy. I scanned the official X3 novel today, the way Jean was portrayed still didn't quite right to me. Jean's dilemma was boiled down to a question of choice, but I still see it as an issue of control, which will be explored more...

Mystique would've made a cleverer entrance than what I've written, but I think it fits in nicely – if I think of a way to fix it slightly, I will. Let me know what you think!

Early update, and I've part of the next chapter written already, whoa. Stay with me:) It's really important to me to hear how you like it (or don't) so far. Enough of dropping hints noisily... onwards!

--

Moira hung up the phone. "Logan and Jean will be driving by to get you. They think they'll be here in an hour or so."

The man before her was dormant, like he'd always been, and she heard Charles say, "Then we have an hour to do some catching up."

Moira eyed him. "Less than an hour. I'm coming with you. I still feel responsible for this patient. At least this way, he'll still be in my care." She sighed. "There's some paperwork I'm going to have to do now, Charles. I can't just pack up and leave..."

"You, pack up and leave?" Charles chuckled. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were going crazy."

Moira laughed shakily. "I'm talking to the voices in my head, what can I say?"

"Ah, Moira, Moira. What'll it take to convince you?"

Ten minutes later, Moira had the day's newspaper spread out on her lap, and was doing the most mundane thing she could think of.

"Three letters, a cow usually chews its what forty to fifty times before swallowing?"

"Cud."

"Four letters, chicken of the sea..."

"Tuna," Xavier thought-across happily. "You can give me a harder one, you know."

"Okay... fifteen letters, garden problem."

"Hmm."

"Third letter t, sixth letter n," Moira said helpfully. "Ooh, ends with an s."

There was a long pause.

"_Hmm._"

--

At Moira's insistence, Logan moved a bed into Charles' office. He argued that the professor would prefer being motile ("We just put him in his old chair and he's a brain on wheels again"), but Moira refused to move the patient's body any more than was necessary.

Jean was scavenging some throw pillows from the entrance hall when the doorbell rang. Puzzled, she opened the door. And almost stopped breathing.

"Scott...?"

--

Logan felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped and spun around, but there was no one behind him.

"Sorry," the professor's voice came in his head. "I thought that startle you less, but I suppose not. Maybe I should rap the table before I speak. Or ring a bell?"

Logan growled at the back of his throat.

"_Sorry_," said Charles. "But Logan, I need you to go to the front of the mansion, right now. To check on Jean," he added.

It worked. Without so much as a backward glance, Logan spun on his heel and made for the door.

--

Logan knew something was wrong the minute he set foot in the front hall. Something didn't smell right. "Jean?" he called.

In the doorway, Scott broke off from embracing Jean, suddenly wary. "Is _he_ still here?" he shot at Jean.

"Logan? Yeah," Jean said quietly. She reached for his arm. "Scott, I don't know where to start, but..."

Scott jerked his arm away and started to run for an old bike parked in front of the mansion. Jean barely had time to think before Logan almost knocked her over running past. He dove, caught Scott by the ankles, pinned him down and unsheathed his claws-

"_Logan!_"

"This isn't Scott, Jean," Logan growled. He glared down at Scott, who was struggling, but unable to throw him off. "I'd know your scent anywhere."

Glowering, Scott ceased struggling, and tensed in concentration. Jean's breath caught in her throat as his skin began unpeeling, revealing bright blue scales...

"No need to waste words on me," Mystique hissed. "I wasn't going to stay long anyway."

"Magneto said you were cured."

Mystique tossed her head scornfully. "Don't you people know yet? The cure's not permanent."

Jean was at a loss for words. Logan, without relaxing his hold on her, asked Mystique, "What do you want here?"

Mystique spat on the floor. "I thought she might know where Magneto's gone to. When I find him, he's going to be very, very sorry. I'm gonna make him regret everything he's done to me. To us," she added, raising an eyebrow an Jean. "Oh, I believed in his cause, really. But now I know. The only person you can trust is yourself." She slapped at Logan's arm. "Get _off_ of me. I'm not here to hurt your little girlfriend."

Jean shot her a glare as Logan released her. Mystique got up nimbly and dusted herself off. "So do you know anything about where he's gone?" she asked brusquely.

"No," said Jean shortly.

"I got him in the chest four times with the cure, though," Logan put in.

Mystique smirked. "Four times? That ought to slow him down a little." She nodded at them. "Thanks for the help."

"You could've just asked," said Jean, miffed. "We would've found you out in a minute."

"I was just having my fun." Mystique grinned. "I was looking for one of the kids, but then you answered the door..." She stretched. "It's good to be blue again."

Jean bit her lip. "You're sure the cure isn't permanent?"

"Yeah. It takes a while to show, though. Why, did they get you too?"

The Blackbird was starting to rumble in from the distance. Mystique cast a chary eye at the skies. "Listen, it was nice talking to you. I have to run."

Her hair and skin flickered over, and it was a dark-haired, blue-eyed woman who hopped on the bike and jauntily waved goodbye as she pulled out of the school. Logan shook his head. He noticed Jean standing to the side, frozen in place. She looked up at him wonderingly.

"Not permanent..."

And then the jet landed, and Jean ran to meet the real Scott, who apart from his injuries was so like she remembered him that she couldn't believe how she could have been mistaken before. Before someone even fetched him his goggles, Jean was dragging him down to the med bay to patch him up.

Amidst the many tears and happy chatter, and all the students crowding in, Ororo's face darkened, because only she noticed how a roll of bandages seemingly flew off the shelf by itself into Jean's hands.

--

To the casual park-goer, he just looked like a lonesome old man looking for someone to play a game of chess with. Some people offered, but he always turned them down with a polite, wistful shake of his head.

Inside, Magneto was brooding.

He'd been humiliated, rendered powerless in every sense of the word. But the fight didn't feel over. He didn't feel defeated. Not yet.

Hadn't mutants regained their abilities, when they moved away from the boy...?

With every ounce of his being, Magneto raised his hand slightly and concentrated a chess piece.

It rocked, ever so slightly, on the board.

His fingers curled into a triumphant fist. He found a plan beginning to form – he had always been the strategist.

_No needle will ever touch my skin again._

--

I myself don't know what Magneto will do – I don't think it'll be on the epic scale of what he did in the movies – I have some ideas for his _powers_, but I'm still looking to develop his character. So review, you know you want to! (: I **love** suggestions!


	5. Chapter 5

**Doubly-long** **chappie!** Abrupt time jumps, but I figured the story doesn't need the filler in between – let me know if it didn't make sense.

After reading Endsong, my opinion of Scott wildly yo-yos. I have a feeling I made him too nice in this chapter to compensate for my furious response to gallivanting!with!Emma!Scott. Still, I've gotten/snitched some pretty far-out ideas for the plot which look better drawn than written, but far-fetched beats no plot. Oh, and I really am using suggestions I've gotten and I think that greatly improves the fic – you'll see _some_ nicer Ororo, I promise! (:

Jean, Scott and Ororo are roughly the same age here – plausible in the movieverse anyway. Quote "I gloved and greased...poisons" by Marin Sorescu. I'm verypleased with where I'll be taking Rogue, but canon!Rogue fans may be dismayed. runs off to hide Frankly the plot would work the same if her powers were the same as they used to be, but I liked seeing her take a break from angst.

Finally, I really spend time on this, but I enjoy it... so I beg you to keep reading and reviewing. (:

--

Professor Charles Xavier had decided to give a diagnostic test in his second math class, for the opportunity to observe his students while they were sitting still as much as to gauge their mathematical ability. And of course, there were the three he especially wanted to see.

Jean had been a natural choice – there was hardly a minute when he _didn't_ watch her. She seemed less inclined to show off around the other children, as he'd hoped. Nevertheless, she carried about her a distinct air of superiority that elevated her a stage above the other children. The natural downside to that was that she hadn't made any friends yet.

Charles sighed inwardly. Even before he and Erik had started the recruiting drives, he'd dreamed of having a telekinetic pupil, but even in his wildest dreams he'd never have imagined to find someone who impressed him as much as Jean did. Mind gifts were impossible to understand completely if you didn't have them, and looking at Jean, he felt like he was getting a fleeting glimpse of finding someone who was like him for the first time. Erik wasn't that way – jealous of his own talents, he preferred complimentary abilities... like telekinesis. Quite frankly, Charles had to admit it – Jean was their clear favourite. And who'd have guessed she'd be so headstrong at such an early age?

The second child Charles was looking out for was Ororo – who was easy to pick out, with her mysteriously white hair contrasting against her dark skin. He wasn't so clear on her background – Erik had picked her up apparently without too much difficulty – but he was just waiting to see how she controlled the weather. Like Jean, she'd proved docile so far, but obviously none of the other children were in a hurry to get on her bad side.

And the third – the very first mutant Charles had found – the boy, Scott Summers.

He was seated in a corner – but a corner of the front row – looking as though he was trying to make himself seem smaller. Charles couldn't blame him for being shy – no doubt he was all too aware that no one could look him in the eye. He was evidently very bright, and the ingenius glasses with the ruby-quartz lenses than Hank had made him suited him – if he'd only stop trying to hide behind them.

Charles passed out the tests, with the usual soothing speeches that began with "This is not a test..." He gave them fifteen minutes, and when some of them began to get restless, he started making his rounds, observing the class.

Jean, he noted, was perfectly capable of doing the math, but whenever a question required calculation of any sort, she casually targeted a mind in the room – usually Scott's – and proceeded to copy off the answer. She even scanned a few minds to check her work. Twice she looked straight at Charles – completely unperturbed that she was cheating right under his nose, loudly thinking to him, _this is my way._ Charles frowned as he withdrew his own mind. He'd have to think of something against that.

Ororo had reached the last question, a tricky one he'd slotted in just to test the waters: A red train is going north at twenty miles per hour, while a blue train is going south at fifty miles per hour. If you are seated on the red train looking at the blue train coming towards you, what speed does the blue train appear to be going at?

Charles quickly glanced at Jean. He wanted to see how she'd handle this one. As he expected, she went for the challenge herself, rather than cheat. In a minute she'd written the correct answer, seventy miles per hour. Charles was impressed again.

He could see the wheels turning in Ororo's head – _trick question_ – as she triumphantly pencilled in a fifty. It was really too much of him to expect eleven year-olds to recognize and apply the basic concept of relativity, but he liked the way Ororo was thinking.

Finally he checked in on Scott. What he saw made him smile. The boy had drawn two rectangles on his paper to represent the trains, and added little arrows to show the direction they were travelling in. Tongue wedged in the corner of his mouth, he began meticulously shading one rectangle red and the other blue. Even if he didn't get the answer, Charles would give him full marks.

A quiet snicker came from behind him. Charles didn't even need to turn around to imagine Jean's smirk. Her voice rang through his head, _someone's having a mental block today, isn't he?_

Charles gave her a stern look before terminating their mind link. She looked up to him, Charles, in a way, or she wouldn't even be taunting him, she would have just ignored him completely. At least that was under control.

As Charles collected the papers, he couldn't get Jean's words out of his head.

_Someone's having a mental block today, isn't he? Mental block today, isn't he? Mental block, mental block, mental block..._

--

"And so your telepathy and telekinesis are coming back. This is a second chance, Jean."

Jean kept quiet and stared fixedly at the wall.

"Jean, I have to tell you... You were one of the first few – you, Scott, Ororo..."

"I remember," Jean smiled. "Good times."

"Indeed." Charles smiled, Jean could tell. "But you were my first real student, you know, because we had the same gifts. Erik and I were just uncovering the next generation of mutants. You were so young, but I knew..." he hesitated slightly, "I knew from the moment I met you that you had the potential to surpass me completely. Much of this was my fault. I underestimated you. Perhaps I overestimated myself. I enjoyed our sessions together so much, and you were so happy at the school..."

Jean lowered her eyes. They both knew what he meant – he meant Scott.

--

Scott...

They'd talked, after skirting the issue until it became unbearable. It was one thing to treat his cuts and bruises, and another to get words out. Jean had paid Scott's bedside a completely unnecessary visit and check-up at 3 a.m. when he was soundly asleep, as if it compensated for something, but she ended up going back to bed before the hour was done.

It was so strange in the room – which had been _their_ room, she reminded herself – his things neatly in place and ready for use, and some of her things put away, but most of them still there. Her toothbrush was still in its holder, but she threw it away and unwrapped a new one, and after brushing her teeth crawled into what had always been her side of the bed. And in the morning, they'd talked.

"I was hearing you just the same as when we had our psychic link, and because of that I couldn't let go... knew you weren't dead."

"I didn't even know I was calling out to you... I knew I was alive, but trapped, somehow, and all this water was around me..."

"And then I felt _compelled_ to take off my glasses-"

"...because the Phoenix was dying to break free. I woke up, and I was standing in front of you with some memory of your optic blasts."

"I could never control them. Jean, I _knew_ when the Professor took you aside on one of those first days of school and you came back _changed_. All I could think of was it could've been like for me if he could have controlled my mutation like that..."

"Maybe it was the best thing for then. Everyone thought it was for the better, anyway."

"I don't know, Jean-"

"-I was just thinking back to Alkali Lake again. I remembered something about your optic blasts, and all I could think of relating to that was how I wanted to see your eyes. I felt all this _power_, suddenly-"

"-and you held the beams back-"

"-and then you looked... different, to me. And this entire set of different memories came flooding in. You became someone different to us."

"Us?"

"I didn't mean you, Scott... Me, and... the Phoenix. Us. I still don't know what we're capable of, or rather I can't _comprehend _it."

"Jean, we still have so much to learn... about each other..."

"No, Scott. You remember me from before the Professor blocked my mind. I'm not the same person you knew after that. And I'm not the person who tried to kill you! I'm just somewhere in between them, and I need to find myself..."

"I've never been without you for so long, Jean... I did some thinking too."

"Hmm? What about?"

"You, mostly. I love you, Jean."

"I know."

"But it isn't fair of me to expect things to be exactly how they used to be. Between us, I mean."

"I'm sorry, Scott..."

"I didn't mean it like that. We'll... take a break. Another one. Don't cry, Jean. It's for the better. Maybe it's the best thing for now..."

--

...and she was in Xavier's office, surfacing from the memory. Had more than a minute gone by? Jean felt like she hadn't moved in a while. It was happening more and more lately.

Charles gave Jean a moment, then continued, "But now I see we should have started our training from the beginning, and kept going from there, bit by bit... with more trust."

Jean's voice caught in her throat. "You'd trust _me_? I don't trust myself. I don't know what I might do..."

"Jean, your abilities cannot be withheld from you. And you've shown you have more control over yourself than you think. You tried to _cure_ yourself. Now let's see if we can't turn your predicament into something that doesn't need curing."

"But what if... something goes wrong?" Jean said in a small voice.

"Ah, I knew you'd get to that. Could you dial room 22 on the intercom, please? I find that rattles people much less than when I speak directly into their minds... perfect, thank you." He projected his thoughts beyond just Jean and himself. "Marie, come in now, please."

"Marie?" said Jean. "Oh... Rogue."

"I hope you won't be jealous, Jean." Charles chuckled. "You were always my first pupil, and the both of us so similar... but Marie, too, has made me very proud."

The door swung open slowly, and Marie entered. Jean's gaze was drawn to the girl's hand, resting on the doorknob. No gloves, she realized.

"Marie here also took the cure," Charles explained. Jean glanced at Marie, who nodded. "When her powers started coming back to her, little by little, we had a few little appointments. And now she's learned to control her mutation."

Jean's eyes widened. Marie smiled shyly.

"We'll make a bargain, Jean," Charles continued. "You and I will train for two hours every day, starting from the basics again. Marie has agreed to be on standby, should things get out of hand, on the condition that we do our very best to hold our practice sessions over her Math classes."

Marie shrugged sheepishly. "That's one class I wouldn't mind missing," she said nonchalantly. Jean hid a smile.

"Your side of the bargain is this, Jean: after our sessions are over, you must promise you will not even _think_ about training for at least four hours. Not just because you have to rest, but because we don't want all of it returning at once. I won't spy on you, but if I catch you so much as telekinetically shutting a door, I'll ask Leech to accompany you around the school for a week. And goodness knows, we don't want that. The boy's had a hard enough time as it is, without being teased for following a teacher around all day."

"You want me back teaching again?"

"I most certainly do. I can't think of anyone more qualified to teach high school science, and I know you'd want to resume life as much as it formerly was. You'll have to ask Ororo, though – I concede that she's running the school now."

Jean resisted the urge to sigh. Out of the side of her eye, she could see the corners of Marie's mouth starting to turn up. "I'll do that," Jean said blandly.

"Good. So Jean, do we have a deal?"

Jean considered it. In truth, she didn't have to think too hard. "Only if we do three hours on Wednesdays, if that's fine with Ro-... Marie."

"Could we make that Thursdays? I have double math on Thursday," Marie said hopefully.

"I wouldn't have expected less of you, Jean." The professor sounded like he was beaming. "And I would have expected more of _you_, Marie, but we won't say a word to professor Summers, will we?" Marie shook her head. "I'm glad we've settled that, then. Jean, if you'll come by later, we'll look at your schedule to see where we can fit our sessions in. And then I'll see you tomorrow."

Jean nodded, and held the door open for Marie. As she was about to leave herself, she heard a voice say, "Oh, and be sure to tell Ororo that if she doesn't let you teach, she'll have to take some of our better credentials off the school's brochure."

Only Professor X could convey a wink telepathically. Jean felt a faint glow of pride stir within her.

Turning, she found Rogue waiting for her. She ought to say something.

"So it's just Marie, now?"

Marie's face split into a grin. "Yeah. Now I'm only a rogue when I need to be."

Seeing the girl so happy, so _carefree_, Jean felt suddenly close to tears. They'd never been close, but Jean had often wondered how it must be like to be _Rogue _instead of Marie, having to constantly and consciously distance yourself from others. Jean had observed that much in her Biology class. She'd been grateful for the days they did dissections, when everyone covered their hands – everything sterile, everyone aloof.

_I gloved and greased my hands, my legs, my thoughts, leaving no part of my person exposed to touch, or other poisons..._

Impulsively, Jean leaned over and hugged the girl, drawing her close. Marie hugged her back.

"Don't buy into anything they say about restraining your powers," Marie whispered fiercely. "Your gifts are a part of you."


	6. Chapter 6

_Truth is I love you_

_More than I wanted to_

_There's no trying to pretend._ Genesis, "That's All" (it's such a Logan verse!)

Darn it, do fireflies make noises? It's really hard to Google that, so mine are mute, city girl that I am. If you read Endsong, you'll recognize the clearing! Sort of. Also, it's now September... deal with it. ;) I would've liked it even more romantic – I nicknamed this the happy chapter, everyone smiles so much (go on, count). And I'm really pleased I got Charles to just go through Moira so I can stop typing 'comatose man'; plus, it advances plot for later! Stay tuned, folks!

Magneto is a _fascinating_ character when you delve into his history, but it all gets horribly complicated, so I'll try to handle canon loosely while building his relationship with Jean, something I've _really_ wanted to see (fic challenge, anyone?).

I've mapped out the plot: **there'll be five to seven more chapters, so don't go away!** They should take me about a week each, but really, reviews do help me write faster.

--

Erik easily located Jean Grey on the first day of her arrival at the school. After all, there were still less than thirty students of all ages, and while that was a good number to start with, Erik looked forward to the day that the mansion would be overrun with mutant 'youngsters', as Charles so fondly termed them.

"Do you need some help with that, Jean?" he called down the corridor to her, as the girl was pushing her enormous suitcase into her room.

Jean turned, recognizing him instantly. She cast a glance at the other children struggling with their luggage – since a teacher had already addressed her by name, most of them were curiously looking her way. Jean's eyes narrowed.

All the bags in the hallway lifted off the ground and glided silently into their respective rooms. Their stunned owners didn't react until a moment later, and by then Jean had superciliously closed her door behind her.

Erik slipped into the room.

_Don't lecture me, _Jean's voice rang out in his mind.

"Alright," Erik said out loud.

_I don't need your help._

"You can still let me know if you want ask something," Erik said cheerfully.

Jean spun around, looking livid.

"I know everything you're _thinking_," she warned him, as if to ward him off.

"And why shouldn't you?" Erik said, smiling disarmingly. "If we're going to be friends?"

A change came over the girl. Her customary distrustful expression smoothed away as she studied him.

"Then I won't read your mind," Jean said carefully, "unless I have a good reason to."

"I think that's fair."

Jean stuck out her hand. "Friends?"

"Friends," Erik agreed, shaking the girl's hand sincerely. She looked pleased.

_I like this one_, Erik found himself thinking again. He glanced sideways to see if Jean had picked that thought up, and found her smiling sweetly back at him. _Ah, I _like_ this one._

--

Wednesday was the day Jean was scheduled to start retraining, but she had a full class load to teach and so the session had to be put off until after dinner. She proceeded to the professor's office and found Moira there waiting for her with a deck of cards.

"Charles is going to speak to you through me," Moira explained. "This way, he gets to use my voice and my hands."

Jean nodded. Moira looked a little uneasy. "You won't really notice anything, Moira," Jean reassured her. "Since you don't have any telepathic ability, it'll be as though you aren't even here."

"Okay..."

"Thank you for doing this, Moira," Jean added warmly.

Moira smiled nervously, then closed her eyes. A moment later she reopened them.

"Hello, Jean."

"Hello, professor." Jean grinned.

"Something amuses you?"

Jean started to laugh. "You sound too gruff to be Moira."

"Good. Heaven help me if I somehow became indistinguishable from Moira MacTaggert."

"We should get started."

"Of course." Moira shuffled the deck of cards and drew one, keeping its face hidden from Jean. "You remember this game, Jean?" Jean nodded glumly. "Let's see if you can tell me what card I'm holding up."

"Ace of diamonds," Jean said immediately.

"That was quick," Moira said, sounding surprised.

"I don't know how that happened," Jean admitted. "It might've been a fluke. Let's do another."

Moira drew another card. This one was much, much harder. Jean stared fruitlessly at the back of the card for nearly five minutes before she sensed the professor starting to steer her mind in the right direction.

_I'm concentrating on the card. I'm looking at it. Come on. You can do this._

"Ten of spades," Jean stated finally. Moira beamed and chose another card.

"Three of diamonds?" Jean guessed, but it was the six of clubs. Moira reshuffled the deck and picked again.

They ran through a variety of exercises for the next few hours, and Jean steadily made progress. Finally Moira looked at her watch and sighed.

"I've enjoyed this, Jean," Charles said directly to her mind. It was nice to hear his voice. "I think we have time for one last exercise."

"Okay," Jean said, completely absorbed.

"It will be challenging," Charles added.

"I like challenges."

"That's what I like to hear." Moira cut the deck in two. "I want you to see if you can pick out which pile, say, the king of hearts is in."

Tricky. That would involve reading a number of cards, depending on where she started from. There had to be an easier way...

"Jean!"'

Jean blinked. A single card had slid halfway out of the first stack. Jean turned it over. The king of hearts.

Charles was chuckling. "You've never failed to impress me, Jean."

The real Moira stirred in her chair, and stretched. "Hey. Did I miss anything?"

Jean stared down at the king of hearts, grinning to herself.

--

As Jean left the professor's office, she almost bumped into Logan.

"What're you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Logan answered, without missing a beat. "Did it go well?"

"Better than I'd hoped for."

"That's good." He smiled roguishly at her. "Have any plans for the next four hours, then?"

Jean smiled teasingly back at him. "Oh, I don't know, Logan, there's a new book about cell biology I was looking forward to reading..."

"It can wait. Come on."

Jean followed him down the hallway. "Is there something special going on tonight?"

"You'll see."

He led her outside the mansion, through the gardens and out a side gate. Jean made a note to herself: remember to remind students to stay on campus at all times. The gate was fairly well-hidden, though. She wondered how Logan had found it. It explained what he did when disappeared some nights – went roaming.

"We're not going far, are we?" Jean said. "I've got homework to grade."

Logan snorted. "So do I, now."

"Yeah, yeah, Professor Logan of art," Jean snickered.

"That's Profesor of _free expression_," he corrected her.

She thought of making some remark about his new responsibilities, but decided against it. Inwardly, she was glad – it meant he'd be staying.

"Look up there." Logan pointed up at the starry sky.

They'd emerged from the grove of trees surrounding the school, and the clearing was bathed unexpectedly bright.

"Harvest Moon," Logan explained, lowering himself onto the grassy ground. "It's the fullest moon of the year."

It was the biggest moon she'd ever seen, and tinted a faint orange.

"The Harvest Moon marks the end of the growing season. When it falls in September, we call it the Fruit Moon."

It was beautiful. Jean lay down in the grass beside Logan, drinking in the sight of all the stars. Logan's eyes twinkled.

Jean felt a gentle pressure at the back of her head, and her hair came tumbling down her shoulders.

"Leave it, Jeannie," Logan smiled, pocketing the clip. "It looks good like that."

"I was thinking of cutting it again," Jean said, only half meaning it.

"Don't. So, still interested in grading homework, Jeannie?"

Jean shook her head, trying not to notice how Logan's gaze was fixed on her – or she'd start to grin like an idiot.

A group of fireflies skimmed lazily across the grass, and she let her mind drift off as she watched them. The air was warm for the time of year. Gradually, she let sleep overtake her.

Jean woke up to Logan shaking her shoulder.

"What is it?" she said sleepily.

"Jean, _look_."

It was darker – the fireflies had gone. A handful of twigs were floating above the ground, and the grass was standing on end, as if it'd been spooked.

Distracted by the spectacle, Jean broke her concentration and the sticks fell to the earth.

"I wasn't meaning to-"

"You couldn't have been," Logan put in. "You weren't even awake."

Jean lowered her head to her knees. She felt tears prick her eyes. "Apparently I can't even _sleep_ now."

"You haven't been sleeping?"

"Not well," Jean admitted reluctantly.

"Bad dreams?"

"Yeah."

Logan waited a moment before asking, "About?"

"Drowning, usually." Jean sighed. "In them, I'm always using my powers. I had no idea I was actually doing things. I can't afford this..."

"Jeannie..."

It was funny, it'd never occurred to her chide him for using the girlish nickname. It came to him so naturally that she didn't mind it.

"I'll just have to try to find something else to do." She gave Logan a sad smile. "Four hours aren't even up yet..."

She stopped. The way he was looking at her made her breath catch in her throat.

"Still no plans, then?" Logan murmured.

Jean felt a gentle pressure at the back of her head, and her hair came tumbling down her shoulders.

"Leave it, Jeannie," Logan smiled, pocketing the clip. "It looks good like that."

"I was thinking of cutting it again," Jean said, only half meaning it.

"Don't."

He looked deep into her eyes and he hadn't let go of her shoulders. Jean exhaled slowly, waiting... but he didn't move.

_He's holding himself back, _she realized. _He wants to know if he _can_, this time..._

"Scott and I... aren't seeing each other anymore," Jean said softly. "I..."

She held up her hand to show she wasn't wearing his ring. Logan took her hand and entwined his fingers with hers, not speaking just yet. Then he was pressing his body against hers – or did she bend forward to meet him? - and gently nuzzling the curve of her neck. Jean shivered involuntarily. Logan was reaching up to whisper tenderly in her ear-

"It's okay, Jean. I know."

And then Jean felt the warm touch of his lips on hers, and she let herself go. Logan's hands cradled her head and began to play with her hair as she kissed him back, willing herself to forget everything but the sensation. It wasn't too difficult.

Breathing in the balmy night air, listening to the crickets chirping, Jean felt her heart fill with a sense of peace she hadn't felt for months. She pulled back, just for a moment, to whisper, "Thank you."

Logan didn't say anything. He just smiled, and leaned in to kiss her again.

--

Shameless plug that's too long: I write for you to read. And getting reviews makes me happy! Conversely, _not_ getting reviews makes me sad. I don't usually say this, but please just take a moment to review, it'll cheer me up immensely. And to everyone who has been reviewing, I can't thank you enough for your support. (:


	7. Chapter 7

I finished a splendid chapter – then realized it went better later in the sequence of events. So in order to update in a week, as I've been doing, I really rushed _this_ chapter. Congratulate me for being able to spell 'queue' at 3:35 in the morning. I took a lot of shortcuts but on the whole, it holds together.

This chapter definitely breaks from the angst for a bit to border on OOC (but fun!). It was meant to be short, and it's only for character development and some lines I'll be recalling during the Final Climatic Battle Etc. We resume angst in the next chapter _very_ soon, because...

...sadly, I will be going away for a month and will have, at best, limited internet access. I was just getting into the rhythm of this, too... I will try my hardest to update.

--

"...but nature calls for the survival of the fittest, regardless of whether the fittest are the most noble, or the cruelest." Jean collected her notes. "That concludes today's lesson. I'm sorry I don't have time for questions today, but I'll be happy to answer any queries you might have if you stop by my office sometime tomorrow."

Jean slipped through the throng of students jostling in the hallway and into Ororo's class. The room was empty. The other woman was just cleaning her lesson notes off the blackboard.

"Surprise, Ororo, it's congé!" Jean exclaimed.

Ororo turned, confused. "What, the school's taking a day off?"

"Not the whole school. Just us for some you-and-me time. Logan's going to watch your classes-" Jean grinned, "-and we're going shopping. Come on."

Ororo found herself being pulled downstairs. She blurted out, "Wait, Jean, I'm still holding the duster. Give me a minute to put it back!"

Jean laughed. "Make sure you hurry, our driver's waiting."

Mind a whirl, Ororo went back upstairs replaced the duster. When she couldn't think of any other excuses, she rejoined Jean.

"Shopping?" she repeated blankly.

"Yes! Come _on!_"

--

"I hate seatbelts," Warren moaned.

"I hate sitting next to you," Ororo griped. "Jean, you didn't tell me he was coming along."

"I hate Manhattan traffic," Jean contributed. "And _sorry_, our driver didn't inform me in advance."

"Will you all be quiet?" Hank resisted the urge to dash his forehead against the steering wheel. "Oh, my stars and garters."

--

"I have to hand it to you, Jean," Ororo smiled, "bullying Hank into driving us down was cute."

"Wasn't it?" Jean beamed. "Remember how we'd beg Hank to drive us into the city every second Saturday when he came up to the school?"

Ororo laughed. "He couldn't get away from us. We were pretty persuasive."

"And still are." Jean held up a pair of earrings. "Do you like these better, or the previous ones?"

--

"And so I was talking about the Gettysburg Address, and Kitty fell asleep, and get this – she was slumped halfway _through_ her chair!"

--

"Really. Wait till you hear about the time..."

--

"I can't believe this. Why are the lines always this long at Macy's?"

--

"We can _both_ buy it, look. We're getting such different sizes anyway that as long as we never wear it together, no one will know, okay?"

--

"Six pieces. I only have six pieces. _Six pieces! _Look, one, two, three, four, five, six – oh."

"Please, there's no one in line behind us, she can try on seven. If she tries to shoplift anything, I'll turn her in."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

--

"I can't," Ororo lamented.

"You have to. It looks too good on you."

"I already have too many handbags, Jean."

"That is a lie. You can never have too many handbags."

"I still can't buy it."

"But you can receive it, can't you?" Jean plied the purse from Ororo's hands and started to reach for her wallet. "Let me pick this one up for you."

Ororo froze. "I know what you're trying to do," she said cautiously.

"Sure," Jean said easily. "You wouldn't let me forget that I missed your birthday, would you? And Christmas," she pointed out.

Ororo felt like kicking herself. _She's just trying to be _nice_, for goodness' sake,_ she reprimanded herself silently. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Jean. I've been so uptight about everything, everything that's just happened in the last few months. And I've just been stressed out since Professor X stepped down from running the school..."

Jean nodded sympathetically as they joined the queue.

"And Kurt's never _around_, he's always disappearing off somewhere..." Ororo smiled abruptly. "Sounds like someone we used to know, doesn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"_Logan_, Jean," Ororo supplied exasperatedly.

"Oh." Jean tried to fight back a smile, and lost.

"Don't oh me. Now I know exactly what you've been thinking about whenever you start staring off into space like that."

"Ororo!" Jean protested.

"Sometime, you have to tell me how you get your man to stay in one place."

Jean was certain she was blushing and was glad as the the woman at the counter began to ring up their sale, albeit with agonizing slowness.

As Ororo leaned over to grab one of the enormous Macy's bags, her handbag slipped off her shoulder and sprang open. A multitude of objects clattered across the floor in all directions. She scooped them up efficiently, and turned to find Jean regarding her, stony-faced.

"Is this yours?" Jean said quietly. She was holding up a cure syringe. "You carry these in your _handbag_?"

Ororo was struck dumb.

"Well, you have a new bag now," Jean said slowly. "You decide what you want to do with it. But," and her gaze shifted, "I can hardly blame you for keeping this close."

She held out the syringe. Nodding mutely, Ororo took the syringe and tucked it right into the bottom of her bag. She felt like kicking herself again. _You're the one that's sick_, she admonished herself.

They were silent in the car ride back, until Ororo hazarded, "Staring off into space again, Jean?"

"Yeah," Jean answered thoughtfully. "But I've come to the conclusion that there's one man we can always rely on..." She smiled sweetly. "And that's Hank."

"Hank, you're the best," Ororo chimed in.

Hank rolled his eyes and turned the radio up.

"We can't forget Warren either," Jean added, ever egalitarian.

"Turns out he comes in handy," Ororo conceded.

"_Women_," Warren retorted disgustedly. He had a backache from lifting all the shopping bags into the trunk of the car.

--

Jean was into her fourth night of combat training with Logan, and she couldn't say she was making tremendous progress as she crashed down onto the thin mattress covering the floor for the umpteenth time that evening.

Logan offered her his hand and she gladly accepted it. "You learn quick. You just need time. Call it a night?"

Jean shook her head and got into a ready stance again. Logan shrugged and followed suit. They circled for a minute, Logan easily avoiding Jean's attacks. When she lunged forward, Logan caught her neatly and flipped her onto the ground in one move.

Logan held out his hand again but Jean declined, groaning faintly. Logan squatted down beside her.

"You've been adapting," he noted.

"Not enough."

"When you're too tired, you can't force it."

"I believe you."

He helped her to her feet. Jean dusted herself off. "How's the mind training?" Logan asked.

"Pretty good. No ill-effects so far. I lifted a book today. Tomorrow I'm going to try a chair."

Logan smiled. "You don't quit, do you, Jeannie?"

"Nope. What, you want to spar some more?"

"I wouldn't mind, but I think I'm starting to enjoy kicking your ass too much."

"That's it, now you've made me mad. I'll get you next time." Jean stretched. "Ororo's classes went okay for you today?"

Logan snorted. "Wasn't too much for me to handle."

Inwardly he shuddered. It'd been harrowing, to say the least.

--

A/N: Review, please, let me know about anything at all. And check back very soon for the next chapter (or two, if I get inspired)!


	8. Chapter 8

Puissant new feature: learn SAT vocabulary as you read this fic! I tried, anyway.

Special note: The guy who designed Phoenix's special effects envisioned that the power of the Phoenix was so great, it _affected the pull of gravity,_ which was why things were always levitating, in particular water. Reading that blew my mind and made my day.

Witness the transition from snotty I-float-cars Jean to anything-you-say-professor Jean, and a bit more to follow. I've put this under the main characters Jean and Magneto, note however that this is NOT a Jean/Magneto fic (eeww!), it's still Jean/Logan, but Jean and Magneto could've had a really _fascinating_ relationship and I hope I get to flesh that out a little more.

Last chapter before I leave – you'll get your next chapter in a month if I don't get internet access.** Wait for me, I'll be back! **I have the plot _roughly_ in my head (poll: want to pick a major American landmark I can decimate?), if that helps. Enough. Let's rock and roll!

--

Jean rolled over in bed. She knew she wouldn't be getting to sleep, though she was exhausted – regular day of classes, two hours of training with the professor in between, one hour in the gym afterward to take her mind off things.

If you can still keep your eyes open, she scolded herself, you can go do something useful, like grading papers. If you have dreams again...

...well, they'd be gone in the morning, wouldn't they?

Her dreams hadn't been about Alkali Lake for a while, for which she was grateful. They weren't particularly terrifying, unlike not being able to breathe, but they were... unnerving. She couldn't think why she was having dreams about _him_, why the memories were reasserting themselves after all these years. Probably backlash from her mind breaking loose, she reasoned, but if so, why was she always remembering about – she could understand if it were the professor, or even Scott, but why Magneto?

_Unless you _want_ to... or the Phoenix wants to. Unless _I_ want to._

Jean shook herself and sat up. The alarm clock said it was only half past ten. If she got up, she'd be bound to meet someone else... Jean couldn't help smiling into her pillow. She wondered what Logan was doing.

Eleven, she thought. If you're still awake by eleven, you can go look for him. He'll probably already be asleep...

Five minutes later, Jean was asleep, and dreaming again...

_...some of what you will be learning _in this class is, as it is aptly called, history. The ancient Greeks and the Babylonians, for instance, have left imprints on our world as we know it today, but for the most part, their civilizations have vanished, given way to the Romans. The wheels have been set in motion, the diabolical machinery cannot cease its clanking. The weaker always gives way to the stronger, and that makes the stronger... stronger. History is written by the victors!

What I would like to impress upon you in this first lesson, however, is that we live in the shadow of our history. Certain recent and terrible events still hang over us – we are dwelling in the aftermath. That means that every one of you here can change the course of history, because the story isn't over yet.

You are all mutants.You were born mutants. It is who _we_ are. And our future is arriving at a turning point. Humans are growing increasingly hostile towards our kind. And this planet isn't big enough for all of us.

Let me explain to you where I'm coming from. Less than forty years ago, one man who came to power brought about the death of over eleven million people, six million of which were Jews. I gather you know to what event I am referring to by now. The humans harbor so much discrimination and hatred towards their own kind. There can only be worse deeds in store for another species they will someday come to fear – because mutants will always be superior to mankind.

We are all mutants here, brothers and sisters. Look at the person seated next to you. You are obligated to each other. And, Jean... (_he's turning to me and the rest of the class fades from view-_) Jean – you know this already, but I'll say it again, you are brilliantly talented, unlike anything I've ever seen before. But your gifts are wasted _if you don't stand for yourself... and your kind._

_Remember what I've taught you, Jean._

_Jean!_

A jet of water splashed on her, and Jean woke with a start.

Drying her face on the sheets, she looked around. No one was else in her bedroom. It was still early in the morning, the sun was just rising. She'd definitely just been doused-

There. She'd left a glass of water on her nightstand last night. Jean examined it. It had been full last night, now it was perfectly dry.

Jean got on her hands and knees on the floor and peered at the bed, the dresser, the table. All the furniture had subtly moved from their original places. One of the walls was marked by angry black skid marks caused by the legs of a chair.

_What am I supposed to do about it? I wasn't even _aware

Jean was in such an ornery mood that she gave her bed a kick that sent it a good two feet forward. Then, because she was also feeling stubborn, she fastidiously moved every piece of furniture back to its original spot before storming off into the bathroom to get dressed.

--

Jean guessed she'd fallen asleep, because she couldn't otherwise account for what she'd been doing before a hand grabbed her wrist.

A mixture of shock and dread coursed through her, and she started to scream as she pulled against the deathgrip, but to no avail.

Jean's eyes snapped open. Professor's Xavier's desk swam before her vision. It looked the same as it always was. And on the bed, the comatose man still lay, but... moving? Or maybe it was just herself swaying.

So was she having another training session? But she didn't remember stepping into the professor's office. Maybe it was another dream. She was certainly feeling drowsy. Maybe she would just close her eyes...

Jean slumped in her chair. She could still feel the pressure on her wrist, but it lessened gradually. When she opened her eyes again, Marie's panic-filled expression swam into view.

"Dr. Grey?" Marie whispered. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know, should I be?" Jean mumbled.

The professor's voice entered her head. "I called for Marie because you were losing your grip on your powers, Jean. Do you remember?"

Jean sat up slowly, Marie still holding her arm. What she saw made her gasp.

The windows in the office had been shattered – completely blown out, because none of the glass had fallen inside the room. Two bookshelves had spilled their contents all over the floor. The professor's desk was untouched, but it had moved a good two feet from its original position. And the unconscious man's face and shirt were wet. It couldn't be sweat. Jean looked up and saw that the bag attached to his IV drip had burst.

"Somehow you were drawing the fluid _up _the tube," Charles explained. "Luckily, the bag was already full, and it burst immediately. It'll need a replacement as soon as possible, though."

Moira, white-faced, began to set up the equipment.

"But I don't remember any of this," Jean insisted.

Suddenly she felt a memory being shoved to the front of her mind-

_-a book splashes against the wall and falls to the ground. Its heavy cover rips off, and the old binding disintegrates, tearing out a third of the pages._

Jean looked down. There was that same book still lying on the floor, but its pages were soggy and scattered across the room. "I don't even remember coming in here," Jean said, barely audibly. "I don't-"

"_-told you to pass the book to me, Jean. Why did you throw it?"_

_I don't want to answer you!_

_I rifle through the pages, and all together, things in the office start to rise, soaring free..._

"-eyes went dark and her veins were standing out..." Marie squeaked. "Professor, she wasn't _herself_."

"Yes, I was!" Jean burst out. "That was me! I can't control it _at all_. Are you satisfied?"

"No."

Moira, gathering up the wreckage, bit her lip and looked away.

"What?" That was Marie, sounding amazed.

"I'm not satisfied," Charles' voice sounded sharply. "Far from it. Marie, what time is it?"

"Three fifteen."

"Then we still have nearly three hours for today. Marie, if you wouldn't mind staying, there's something I've been wanting to try with Jean for a while, but we'll need your help."

"What is it?" Jean and Marie said at the same time, but not in the same tone of voice-

_-lesson plan for Monday, survival of the fittest-_

"-going to look through your mind, Jean, to see if I can find any leads on how the Phoenix has its hold on you."

"You're going to-"

_-lying in the grass with Logan, fireflies around, his arm's around my waist and he's leaning in to kiss me-_

"Stop it!" Jean screamed. She tried to force his presence out of her mind, but couldn't, not at all. Marie held on tightly to her arm, lips pressed firmly together.

"Jean, if you don't let me do this, we're never going to find a solution. We mustn't put this off any longer."

_And Marie has to be here, because he knows I would've retaliated. _"I don't need to _let you_," Jean snapped bitterly, "you're already-"

"_...it isn't fair for me to expect things to be exactly how they used to be. Between us, I mean..."_

"_Jean, it's over... Jean? We've gotta get out of here."_

"Please don't," Jean whimpered, unable to keep the edge of a sob out of her voice. "Please, stop..."

Marie's hand moved down from her wrist to squeeze her hand, as-

"_My brotherhood, nothing can stop us!"_

"_They have their weapons... we have ours."_

"_...the next stage in evolution."_

"_My dear, come with me."_

-he was going faster, now, browsing less. _Of course. He's seen most of this already._

"Professor..." she pleaded weakly, one last time. "Professor!"

"_You know he thinks your power is too great for you to control."_

Jean froze as her blood ran suddenly cold. It was as though _he_ was right there, speaking to her face-to-face. She only barely registered the rest-

"_-an institution of sycophants!"_

"_You are brilliantly talented."_

"_-the only one of your kind, young lady?"_

When Jean opened her eyes again, she was lying on her bed, on top of the covers.

She had the mother of all headaches.

Bright sunlight was flooding the room, seeping right through the blinds.

All the furniture had moved again.

She buried her face in the pillow, already drowning in the bitter realization that something was very wrong with her, and it was completely ineradicable.

--

If you have a _second_, please drop a review, they put me in good cheer to write (hint: I dream of hitting 80, but then, a girl can dream)! And hey – if you liked it, add this to your Updates list so you'll know when I update it again. Have an X-traordinary summer! (gets pelted with tomatoes for an X-tremely bad pun)


	9. Chapter 9 preview

So I got to a computer (hooray! could I go longer than nine days without the internet? Hmm) but didn't have enough time to write a full chapter. What I have here is the first bit of the next chapter and an excerpt from a later chapter to come (fic trailer!). When I've finished the chapter I'll upload it separately so the author alert will buzz you. Thank you so much for reviewing,I've used some of the feedback;you guys are the best!

--

Marie couldn't sleep that night. She felt like she was trying to hold in a rushing river that was bursting its banks.

All that power!

And so little control.

She'd already shedthe telekinesis and telepathy, but in the brief moments she'd had them she'd absorbed more thanJean's abilities. She'd been given a look through Jean's thoughts.

Memories couldn't be... let go of. Not just like that; the unclenching of a fist, skin off skin...

She was remembering parts of Jean's life as though she'd lived it herself. And while alarm bells were going off in one part of her head, she couldn't help but be fascinated. Which would only make it harder to forget.

Most of those minutesspent holding Jean's handwere only a whirl of confusion. Energy had descended on her, and she felt almost more awake than she'd ever been - ever could have been. Objects were flying across the room and Marie wasn't sure ifshehad some part in it, but she keptclear in her mindwhatshe was meant to be doing and stared immovably down at the floor, grounding herself, damming up as much power as she could stand. The overall feelings of helplessness and panic coursing through the room didn't help. When the first memory came, she shut her eyes tightly, but it didn't help. Some things she saw - it didn't come naturally to her, but Marie started to blush - _definitely_ weren't meant for anyone else to see. Years and yearspassed - too fast to sort anything out.

That night, sitting on her bed, not quite looking at the wall in front of her, Marie was beginning tosee the method in the madness. Therehad to be some kind of pattern...

She looked at her watch. Only a few minutes past nine - still not too late. Doubtlessly Professor McCoy would still be working in the lab...

--

Future chappie excerpt:

--

The old man lived as a total recluse. The mere sight of anyone else seemed to spook him. He never talked to anyone, and he wouldn't even ride the elevator with anyone else in it. One of the neighboring children who claimed to have peeked in to his apartment swore there was ten bolts on his door, but he was wrong – there were sixteen.

No one ever visited him, and he rarely left his house now. Months ago, he used to venture out to the park, where, the children reported, he would play chess, but with no opponents. His smile was absent-minded and his eyes distracted.

At present, however, he was perfectly focussed, though it was costing him a great deal of effort. He was sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor of his living room, calling to the fan of sixspoons that danced around his head.

No magic tricks here. And he was beginning to think his days spent like a magician were past for good.

Someone knocked on his door.

The spoons suspended in the air fell, but did not make a sound as they touched the floor. The sixteen bolts and chains rattled, although they were already tightly in place. He was just making sure.

A voice rang out:

"Let me in, Magneto."

His back was still facing the door. Without turning, he called, "Can't you let yourself in?"

In a fit of impatience, every bolt and chain suddenly ripped off the door. At the same time, the complex lock clicked and the door swung open.

Magneto stood, smiling. He hadn't felt this way for months, but it was all coming back to him.

"Jean. Is it really you, then?"

Jean's lips curved upwards. "Yes, it's me."

--

"You'll forgive me for not giving you a proper reception," said Magneto. "It is a sad state of affairs, but Mystique has been closing in on me. Is it still two lumps and a dash of milk, Jean?"

Jean nodded and accepted the steaming teacup on its saucer.

"She's been keeping herself busy, of course," Magneto said. "You know the cure is available on the black market while the government waits for the verdict, don't you?"

"She's been dealing it?"

"Good heavens, no. She's been wreaking havoc." Magneto chuckled. "She's developed a personal vendetta against any parent who'll pay an arm and a leg to have their child 'remedied' once a week. You know the story, I'm sure."

Jean stirred her tea thoughtfully. A tendril of milk emerged from the spout of the milk pitcher and lazily twined into her cup.

Magneto looked mildly impressed, and continued, "In her spare time she's decided to track me down. That's why I'm not seeing anyone anymore. All I'm capable of doing is bolting my door shut day after day while I wait out my convalescence." He sighed elaborately. "Until I regain my abilities, if I ever shall, I'm afraid I can't be of too much use to you, Jean."

Jean sipped her tea and eyed him over the rim of her cup.

"And you haven't yet told me what you're planning to do," Magneto added.

"Only what you taught me."

The answer surprised him, after such a long reticence. Jean leaned forward and went on, "Just think. Everything you ever dreamed of for mutantkind. You'll see it before you die." Her eyes darkened strangely, and gleamed.

Magneto felt oddly calmed. He didn't need to say anything.

--

Reviews really help me write! I'm still looking for ideas for the site of theClimatic Destructive Battle, heh. I'll serve up the next chapterproperly as soon as I'm able to. (:


	10. Chapter 9 fully

It's nearly two months since X3 came out - **keep standing!** I WILL finish this. :D

I saw Antony and Cleopatra with Patrick Stewart as Antony! And bits of Goldeneye that had Famke Janssen as Xenia Onatopp. I would just love to get the two together sometime...

Aaaand... future plot spoiler, skip this if you'd rather not know: I had this amazing idea for Phoenix to stand in the Grand Canyon (which is visible from the moon) and, like, move the moon (gravitational pulls and all that). This would cause the tides and seismic activity to go berserk.Problems: moving the moon would probably totally throw off the gravitational pulls that are keeping it from crashing into the earth, sun, etc. I figure Phoenix wouldn't have a issue with that, but the really big problem is… Superman did it already, apparently… crap. -- I'll probably just go ahead with it though, but suggestions are received with 'ot chocolate and a toofbrush in the colour o' your choice. (:

--

Marie couldn't sleep that night. She felt like she was trying to hold in a rushing river that was bursting its banks.

All that power!

And so little control.

She'd already shed the telekinesis and telepathy, but in the brief moments she'd had them she'd absorbed more than Jean's abilities. She'd been given a look through Jean's thoughts.

Memories couldn't be... let go of. Not just like that; the unclenching of a fist, skin off skin...

She was remembering parts of Jean's life as though she'd lived it herself. And while alarm bells were going off in one part of her head, she couldn't help but be... fascinated. Which would only make it harder to forget.

Most of those minutes spent holding Jean's hand were only a whirl of confusion. Energy had descended on her, and she felt almost more awake than she'd ever been - ever could have been. Objects were flying across the room and Marie wasn't sure if she had some part in it, but she kept clear in her mind what she was meant to be doing and stared immovably down at the floor, grounding herself, damming up as much power as she could stand. The overall feelings of helplessness and panic coursing through the room didn't help.

When the first memory came, she shut her eyes tightly, but it didn't help. Some things she saw - it didn't come naturally to her, but Marie started to blush - _definitely_ weren't meant for anyone else's eyes. How she really felt about Logan. Her first kiss with Scott... and then book after dry book of medical facts. Xavier'sSchool,still looking the same. The professor himself, visibly younger. Ororo as a teenager.Years and years passed - too fast to sort anything out.

That night, sitting on her bed, not quite looking at the wall in front of her, Marie was beginning to see the method in the madness. There had to be some kind of pattern...

She looked at her watch. Only a few minutes past nine - still not too late. Doubtlessly Professor McCoy would still be working in the lab...

Yet, something still troubled her. One of Jean's memories in particular had stood out from all the rest, not just because it was scrambled while the rest were almostcrystal clear, but because part of it was hidden, shrouded from view. _Does even Jean know about this?_ Marie wondered.

It would've made more sense if the memory had been whole, and yet... Marie shuddered. It unsettled her more than anything else she'd seen.

_A bright, cheerful morning. Clear blue sky. Birdsong. Trees. Neighbors watering the lawn or weeding the flowerbeds._

_My voice calling out, "Annie! Over here!" _

Laughter.

_A red rubber balls sailing through the ai-_

--

_Twenty years ago_

She sat with her back very straight against the chair, as though attending a high tea. Her face was completely unreadable.

Charles stopped pacing around his office and turned to face her. "Do you know why I've called you here, Jean?" he said sternly.

Jean yawned.

Charles huffed. "Ororo tells me that you've been moving things when people's backs are turned to play pranks on them. At this school, this is an unacceptable use of your powers. I don't want to have to call your parents or worse still, suspend you. Do I make myself clear?"

Jean flicked through his thoughts idly. He seemed nervous. She could see he didn't really want to call her parents up. When it came to it, she didn't want her parents notified either, but she wondered how far she could push his limits.

"I don't hear an answer. Are we clear, young lady?"

That was his mistake. Jean bristled. She hated being called young lady.

Now he was trying to enter her mind. She could feel his presence creeping in, trying to be subtle. Hisattempts were almost insulting.

This was _her_ game. And she was free to make up more rules when she felt like it.

Jean counted out loud, "Two, four, six, eight, ten."

Charles halted. Jean smirked. She could see how he'd been disrupted. She continued steadily, "Three, six, nine, twelve, forty-nine, sixty-two, one thousand, thirty-nine..."

The random sequence blocked the professor's probing. Jean felt his mind withdraw and she allowed herself a small grin of satisfaction. _Beat _him _again._

"_Jean_," Charles sighed, more frustration than annoyance this time. "I know you're just having your fun. But please don't antagonize the other students just for sport. Wouldn't you rather be friends?"

He'd hit a nerve. Jean's eyes flashed. "I have friends."

"I know what happened to you was hard, Jean. And you've been a very brave girl-"

Alarm bells sounded. He was in her mind again! Jean jumped. She'd allowed herself to be distracted. He was heading for that day when Annie-

Jean refocussed and called to mind her memory of leaving home. Her father was loading her trunk into the car. Charles, behind the wheel, nodded to her as she climbed into the backseat. She slammed the door-

_-as hard as I can. I wish I'd slammed it on his fingers._

The car pulled away from the street. She'd sealed off the rest of her memories there.

Jean blinked, coming back to the real world, the straight-backed chair, the office. The professor was clutching his right hand, gasping. The skin was fiery red and the nails were white as chalk. Both of them were thinking the same thing: _that hurt. _This time, Jean didn't feel like she'd won.

Charles faced the girl earnestly. He said, "I just want to help you, Jean."

Jean felt tears overtake her, hot and fast. "You're not helping me!" she screamed,standing up so fast that the chaircrashed to the ground. Shethrew open the door and ran from the room.

Charles sat at his desk and buried his head in his arms. He sat like that a long time. Finally, ashe got up, the leg of his chair scraped against a book that had fallen to the floor. He pickedit up.

"_Antony and Cleopatra_," Charlesmurmured. He flipped to a page in the tome. "Therefore be cheer'd. Make not your thoughts your prisons."

_But is it safe to leave her free?_

--

She was still crying half an hour later in Professor Lehnsherr's office, into his handkerchief. "I - hate - him!" she sobbed.

"He means well, Jean. He does care for you," Erik said pacifyingly.

"Then why does he-" Jean burst into tears afresh. Erik patted her on the back.

"Try to see it from his perspective, Jean. He's never found another mutant with the same gifts as him before. You're very special to him. But he's also new to teaching. Some of his training might not work for you. That's where you've got to tell him, not me."

Jean blew her nose. "He wouldn't listen. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand _me_." She remembered something. "Professor, are we all mutants?"

"Yes, Jean. Everyone at this school."

"Professor X said that they were mutants like me. But I don't think I'm the same as they are. You and Professor X are a little different, but I still don't feel like I belong here." Her voice had gone small.

Erik smiled gently. "Everyone feels a little like that sometimes, Jean."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone. That's when we need to rely on our friends. Hmm?"

Jean had started to cry again. "I miss her," she sobbed.

Erik sighed. "I miss some of my friends too, Jean. And my family."

Jean looked up, startled. Erik said, "I'll tell you about it some other time."

"Please?" When he demurred, she said seriously, "Friends don't keep secrets."

_Friends don't keep secrets._

"Alright," Erik said heavily. "This happened before you were born, but not such a very long time ago. My entire family was being persecuted because we were different. We were Jews..."

--

Next chap to follow soon, hopefully more Je/Lo, Marie and Scott make an appearance... please review!I write for you:D


	11. Chapter 10

Very long chapter, so very long A/N, I'm afraid, but it's okay, you can skip ahead!(:

Whither hath fled the Je/Lo? How did that huge angsty!Scott section slip in? Guess it was inspired by James Marsden's lovely face and tragic demeanor. And where did all this Rogue/Bobby come in anyway?

Written half a sentence at a time in between whacking things on AdventureQuest! Jean eating ice-cream has become a convention somehow, but I thought it was kind of cute to see Scott eating ice-cream (until the angst invaded). Suddenly I want everyone to be eating ice-cream. (Can't you see Logan working behind the counter at Coldstone?)

Scott's role seems to be confined to being the really depressed guy in the corner. Umm... If you want Scott to get a piece of the action, send in ideas:D

I got excited typing Hank's dialogue (hopefully my not-so-scientific reasoning made sense), thinking maybe the sour taste of lemons is some important form of adaptation… I think lemons just taste sour because they're acidic. If that happens to be an adaptation (does it stop animals from eating it? Etc), that's, um, foreshadowing! Hooray! I like how my bacteria analogy syncs with the idea of a cure. This nicely reasserts my later chapters as a kind of X3 x-tension! (omg these x-puns are x-orbitantly infectious!)

--

It was almost the same as that other memory, Marie thought. A beautiful morning guaranteed to lift your spirits and make you smile. Birds singing, deep, lush green leaves on the trees rustling gently. Sprinklers and water hoses gurgling. Flowers. Neat rows of houses and a straight line of mailboxes like soldiers standing to attention.

_"Annie! Over here!" _

Laughter.

I'm holding a red rubber ball.

What was strange about this other memory suddenly hit her. In this memory, she was actually seeing Jean. _She _was about to throw the ball. _She_ was Annie, whoever Annie was…

And why did Jean have one of Annie's memories?

--

"Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet…"

Hank hummed to himself as he cleaned up workspace in the laboratory, singing where he remembered the words.

"…but the fruit of the poor lemon is im-poss-ible to eat…"

Someone coughed politely. Hank looked up and saw Marie standing in the doorway. Oh dear. Left to his own devices, he still hadn't gotten round to replacing the door of the lab. Hank had considered asking Jean if she had any preferences for the new decorating, but in the end he came to the conclusion that perhaps it wasn't the most tactful of questions. Eventually, he'd forgotten all about it.

"Hey… Professor? Is this a good time?" Marie asked. Her voice sounded a little hoarse.

"Hello, Marie," Hank greeted her. He gestured to his workbench. "I'm just about done for tonight. As you can see, I still have some of my apparatus to put away. Why don't you have a seat?"

Marie lowered herself self-consciously into a chair, looking at the floor. Hank noticed her eyes were rimmed red. He stripped off his gloves – that made her look up – and sat down across her.

"Is there something you've come to talk about, Marie?" he asked gently.

To his surprise, Marie chuckled – albeit a little shakily. "Nothing like that, Professor McCoy. I wanted to ask you… about science."

Hank brightened. This was his field. In fact, this was a dream come true! "Ask anything you'd like, and I'll do my best to answer you."

"Well… we went on a field trip to the Science museum last year, and it said there that mutations were random changes in an organism's DNA."

"That's right."

"Most of the time a mutation has no effect because it's such a small change in the huge genetic structure, but sometimes you get… mutants." Marie shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Am I right?"

"As right as anyone else I can think of. So little is known of mutants still."

"So it's a nearly insignificant, sporadic change in our DNA that makes us mutants? That's all?"

"Excellent thinking, but I'll have to disagree with you there, I'm afraid." Hank took off his glasses and polished them on his handkerchief. "Firstly, the change is far from insignificant. Every mutation builds on the mutations of the generations before it, if any. Mutation often doesn't show until the deviation has become great enough, though sometimes a high degree of stress or trauma is involved in triggering it off. Then you suddenly get a girl who can absorb someone's life force just by touching them… or you get a man with blue fur."

The last remark made Marie smile, but again, nervously. Something was definitely on her mind. Hank frowned but continued. "Secondly, the word _sporadic_. In science, that implies that a condition is not hereditary. On the contrary, nature shows that adaptations or mutations conducive to survival are passed down to future generations. Let me give you an example.

"Suppose you get sick and I give you antibiotics. What happens if you don't finish the course?"

"Some of the bacteria might develop a resistance to it and multiply, so if I fall sick again, the same antibiotics won't work?"

"Correct. A batch of the bacteria adapts or mutates against the antibiotics, and because the mutation is beneficial, this new strain survives. If the bacteria fails to mutate, or do not produce a mutation that enables them to resist the antibiotics, they die off instead."

"So does that make the bacteria that mutated superior to the bacteria that didn't?"

"I see. You're thinking about the term _homo superior_, aren't you?"

"Homo what?"

"Some scientists have classified as an entirely new species called _homo superior_, to distinguish it from the humans known as _homo sapiens_. I don't use the term myself; its roots are not scientific. How can you sort anything – or anyone – so broadly? Just look at you and I. We do have plenty in common, yet at the same time, not that much. _Homo superior_… I know Jean and I run into plenty of problems in the Senate with demagogues who either use or condemn such language. Where did you hear the term?"

"I didn't," Marie said, sounding almost guilty. "I've never heard it before. I was just… wondering about mutation."

"Well, to answer your question, if a genetic mutation enables a strain of bacteria to survive where others can't, you could say it's superior, I guess. But the next time it makes you sick, you might chase down a stronger form of antibiotics, and then it'd have to start from square one all over again. Does that answer your question?"

"So when the species' highest goal is survival… I see." Marie looked down at the floor again.

"Actually, this is right up Dr. Grey's alley," Hank added. "You should try asking Jean. Surely she would be better informed?"

Marie nodded quickly, almost imperceptibly. As she got up and pushed her chair back, Hank almost missed hearing her mumble, "That's what I'm afraid of."

Vexed, Hank decided to keep his mouth shut. He began straightening his instruments again. Suddenly he remembered something. "Marie?"

She half-turned, almost out of the room already. "Yes?"

"Again, about the word _sporadic…_"

Marie smiled faintly. "It's bad enough you have to correct my Biology, but now my English too?"

"Perhaps not just your English, but also your philosophy. I know that the textbook and museum exhibits will tell you that mutations are random. But I also know that things don't happen by chance. It wasn't just hiccoughs in your genetic structure that brought you about, just like how it wasn't random that your parents met. I believe that everything happens for a purpose, for a reason, even if we can't see it yet. None of us was created in any way by accident.

"And that," he concluded, "is enough heavy talk for tonight. You look like you could do with some sleep. Goodnight, Marie."

"Goodnight, professor," Marie echoed. "And… thank you." She turned and walked away from the lab.

Marie wasn't sure where she was heading to. She just kept automatically placing one foot in front of the other while her mind tried to iron things out. Maybe she was just tired, or out of sorts, but whatever her affliction, her thoughts were hopelessly tangled up. Illogical! Everything seemed illogical, even the tidiest and driest facts. Yet one, vaguely whimsical idea stood out among the jumble:

_If we're all just an infection, what could possibly be the cure? _

--

Marie had considered going right back to bed, she really had. On the other hand, she felt completely awake, and she wasn't keen to mull her thoughts over all night, staring at the ceiling.

_Some company would be nice_, she thought. _Bobby wouldn't mind if I woke him, but…_ Marie hesitated. Telling Bobby her own secrets was one thing, but letting him into Jean's mind…

_But we wouldn't have to talk. We could just… _A light drizzle was falling outside. Last week, hand-in-hand with Bobby, she'd stood under the porch just keeping dry, and he'd showed her how to freeze raindrops in mid-air…

A light was on in the kitchen. _Bobby?_ Eagerly Marie rounded the corner, but instead found Scott sitting by himself at the kitchen table. The long handle of a silver spoon was sticking out of his mouth.

"Hey."

Scott barely looked up, and then acknowledged Marie's presence with only the slightest suggestion of a nod, apparently lost in his study of the pint of ice-cream before him.

"D'you mind...?"

Almost imperceptably, Scott shook his head. Marie rummaged through the cupboards and found a new roll of Oreos. Pouring herself a glass of milk, she sat down at the table opposite Scott, who had both elbows on the table as he just sat there, still staring into the carton. His mood settled heavily about the room.

_Not exactly the kind of company I was thinking of. Wait a minute... _

"Scott? I mean, Professor Summers?"

He sighed. "You're not in class. Scott is fine."

"Okay. Scott, you attended this school yourself, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

Marie tried to phrase her next question as delicately as she could. "Around the same time as Dr. Grey?"

Scott looked resigned, as if he'd known this question was coming. "Jean? Yeah."

"Did... did you know anyone called Annie?"

"No."

That was it. No suspicion, no puzzlement, no reaction at all, just a flat-out no.

_That ends that trail, then._

Silence reigned. Marie crunched her Oreos noisily, trying to start polite conversation. She looked over Ben & Jerry's Scott was nursing. Chocolate Therapy. That was a good flavor. She smiled faintly. "Isn't that Jean's ice-cream?"

Scott glanced down at the carton, as though checking to see if it were still there. "Yeah," he said, without inflection.

"Guess I caught you, then. Needed a little chocolate therapy too, huh?"

Scott pressed his lips together into a tight line.

Marie tried one last time. "So… what're you doing with it?"

Scott sighed. Behind his glasses, his eyes were unreadable. _He's too somber for teasing,_ Marie thought. She was about to say something else, when Scott abruptly said, "I buy it for her."

"You... oh."

That was right. There was always ice-cream in the fridge, stocked and stacked surreptitiously with the labels of the cartons turned uniformly frontwards as only Scott could do, even during all those months when Jean had been presumed dead…

Abruptly, Scott burst out, "I know it sounds funny, but I see her every day and still… I miss her more than ever."

He finally looked up, and it struck Marie how haggard his face had become. He seemed to look straight into her eyes.

"You know what it's like, Rogue... to love someone, and not be able to…"

If he cried… but he didn't. He just sat there, slowly melting the pint of ice-cream he held in his hands. Marie felt a trickle of sweat run down the back of her neck. _He shouldn't be telling me all this. If I could just..._

She jumped when Scott suddenly stood up. "I know you've been talking with Jean and the professor." His lower lip trembled. "Tell me something, please, Rogue, anything."

Marie stared down at the floor, blinking rapidly.

Scott caught her by the shoulder. His expression was pleading. "You must know _something_!"

Somehow, Marie found her voice. "She does love you." Marie swallowed. "She- she still loves you."

It might have been the worst thing to say. Marie didn't know. She'd fled from the room.

--

Please review: as always, it makes for happier, fasterwriting! I'd love to hear anything you have to say!


	12. Chapter 11

Oh dear. It's been a month, hasn't it?

But now I've started school again and when I am not studying I am stuffing my face and falling asleep, to simplify. Writing is my joy, but chapters will be a little rushed (or at least hastened, expedited, etc) – they still take me hours to write, mind. I've read some graphic novels, and I might use the style to scrimp on words a bit – make the pictures in your mind. (: Meanwhile, the plot hinges on… little. Let us not examine the logic too closely, and everything will hold. Eheh.

Happy JeLo interval, ought to lighten up the mood a little as we prepare for the angst coming up... Somewhat OOC, but I've gone and thrown that out the window, haven't I?

What I planned in my notes to be "chapter eight" will likely end up chapter 12 or 13, at least... don't go away!

--

Alkali Lake.

She's always there, isn't she?

It's where she found herself again – another part of herself, a part that makes her complete.

The Phoenix, the little name they'd called her.

A superhuman being, with mythical powers...

...and as finicky as an eleven-year old girl.

Trust only Charles Xavier to come up with an epithet like that.

As if giving it a name and a face could have stripped it of its power.

But now, Jean, you're free.

Now.

Phoenix rising...

--

Alkali Lake, now.

_I need to do this now or –_

They will die before your eyes.

– _my… my friends…_

The water claps around her ears and then – silence.

She can still make out, through the silvery underside of the water's surface, the Blackbird rising into the sky. But everything's distorted, and she feels suddenly encumbered, as if the burden hadn't been lifted. She swallows her first mouthful of water. The lake is dragging her down, and the rippling sky recedes further and further into the distance until all is dark.

But she is not alone.

She hears:

They have abandoned you.

And so you need me. You.

It's almost our time.

Phoenix rising...

--

Jean woke up to the sun shining brightly on her face. Eyes squeezed shut, she felt around blindly for the curtains, but they didn't keep the light out entirely. Jean slumped back onto her bed and buried her face in the pillow.

_Oh _God_, this headache. I'm definitely not dreaming this up..._

Someone knocked on the door. Jean winced. _I'm asleep,_ she thought. _Yep, still sleeping..._

"I got that, Jean. Can I come in?"

Jean started. _Was I projecting that? Guess I was. _The disastrous training session of the previous day came flooding back. The broken window. Split books, their pages flying in the air. Water...

The door opened. Logan walked in, holding a full plate and a glass of orange juice.

"Good morning," said Logan. Jean groaned and buried her head further in the pillow. Logan chuckled softly.

"So you won't wake up for me? Will you get up for a bagel?"

Despite herself, Jean loosened her grip on the pillow. The air smelled of warm toasted bread. Her stomach rumbled, and she finally looked up. Logan was waving the plate in front of her, grinning.

"It's got cream cheese on it," he said cheerfully. "And right now it's just sitting here, getting cold and sad by itself."

Jean started to laugh. "Sorry. I have to wash up first. Give me a minute."

She rolled out of bed and ducked into the bathroom. After she came out, she sat on the edge of the bed beside Logan and gladly accepted the plate. _Life goes on, as usual... Nothing like routine – or a bagel – to keep things straight. _

_But Logan... I could really get used to waking up to this._

"Thanks so much, Logan," she said gratefully, biting into the bagel. "Mmmmm."

"Thought you'd want some breakfast."

"It's still breakfast time? I feel like I've slept for a week."

"It isn't nine yet."

Jean brightened. "Then I haven't missed any of my classes for today yet."

Logan studied her face. "You sure you're feelin' up to that?"

"I do. It's my job, anyway." Jean set her plate down. "Keeps me sane."

She was surprised at her own conviction.

Logan was frowning, almost imperceptibly, but she could tell. "What's on your mind?"

He said, "You remember how much you wanted to control your powers? Not just to be _able_ to, but to _want_ to?"

"Of course."

"Then this is just the first step in things to come. I don't know..." He raked his hand through his hair, and Jean almost smiled. It looked terrible. Or maybe she just wasn't accustomed to seeing him... worried.

It was kind of sweet of him.

"You passed out yesterday in Chuck's office, you know?" Jean nodded, feeling, absurdly, her cheeks growing warm. "I brought you in yesterday... you looked worse than I've ever seen you." He seemed to be searching for the right words. "Today you look okay, but..."

"Just okay?"

Unexpectedly, Logan grinned easily. "If you really want to know, darlin', you look beautiful."

Jean could have sworn that her heart skipped a beat. Her whole face was stinging with a blush now. How did he always have this effect on her...?

"I was _saying_," Logan interrupted, trying to hide his smile, "that you looked better today, but from what I could tell, you'll be training just as hard as that from now on. You ready for that?"

Jean held his gaze. "Definitely."

"Good."

"Don't ask me to take it easy."

"I-" Logan hesitated. "I've thought of something we have in common. All mutants, actually."

"You're changing the subject, but what?"

"People try to use us. Not for who we are, but what we can do."

"You mean the professor?"

"No, but you're right, it's mutants too. It's just a broad generalization..." Logan shrugged.

"I can think of someone," said Jean.

"Who?"

"You. You're planning something here." Jean's eyes twinkled.

"You're kidding. Who just brought you breakfast?"

"You have your motives."

"Well, maybe. I did get into your room."

"That's right."

"I'm on your bed, next to you."

"Go on."

"And I think I'll kiss you now."

He did.

"And can you say you weren't planning all of this?"

"Hmm, maybe not."

"Then maybe," Jean smiled, "it's not all so bad."

She leaned forward and kissed him again.

"I think I'm making this too easy for you," Jean mused.

Logan snorted. "Definitely not."

Jean got up and stretched. She consulted her clock. "It's almost nine. I have to dress up."

Logan looked disappointed. "If I brought you two bagels...?"

"You could get me some Tylenol, maybe."

Muttering darkly, Logan left the room.

"Thanks," Jean called out brightly.

--

Jean got through her first two classes without much trouble, but during her third period, her right contact lens was making her eyes tear badly. "Excuse me," she told the class, and, after assigning some classwork, strode out briskly.

In the bathroom, she fixed the lens and touched up her makeup. On the way out, she bumped into Logan, coming out of the opposite side. Their eyes met.

Logan said softly, "Did you know I was going to be here?"

Jean shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She felt a slight pressure on the small of her back as Logan steered her inside the men's bathroom.

"So maybe you didn't know," Logan conceded. "But you definitely want to be here. I can tell. I can smell it on you."

Her breath was coming much faster than she would've liked. Logan backed her against a wall. His grin was mischievous.

"I bet you've been thinking about me."

"No. Don't get your ego inflated anymore than it already is."

Logan smirked. "You _were_ thinking about me."

She had been, but only occasionally, and certainly not in the way he'd implied. "_No._"

He looked so smug, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. "I knew it. I bet you were –"

"Shut up," Jean managed, "and kiss me."

She hadn't meant to say that last part, but Logan obliged anyway. His hands seemed to know every inch of her body, and her skin burned with longing wherever he touched her. It was all Jean could do to keep herself from melting away completely.

It was Logan who first broke away from the kiss, essentially to gloat. "You're making things far too easy, Jean Grey," he teased.

Something in his last remark wafted away some of the clouds in Jean's mind. "Am I?"

He thought he'd won, did he?

To Logan's surprise, Jean extricated herself from his grip.

"I don't really know about that, Logan. You know, I'd love to, but for now, I think I'd rather get back to molecular biology..."

Before he could blink, Jean dodged him and slipped out.

_You know he's going to make you pay for this later, Jean..._

She could deal with that!

Coming out of the men's bathroom, Jean came almost face to face with a very surprised Ororo, just as Logan yelled that Jean could go and do something very unlikely with molecular biology.

Jean pulled a straight face with as much dignity as she could muster. "I have no idea what he's talking about, do you?"

Ororo kept her face concordantly expressionless. "Should I start giggling now?"

"If you like." Jean glanced at her watch. "I have to be getting back to class now."

Ororo nodded. "I could barricade the door shut, you know, if you don't want him coming after you. It must be a real hassle."

Eloquent swearing was still coming from the bathroom. "You have no idea," said Jean. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." As Jean turned to go, Ororo hissed, "Jean!"

"What?"

Ororo buried her face in her hands, trying not to laugh. "Pull the back of your skirt down. Please."

--

I don't usually solicitate reviews this much, but I got TWO reviews last chappie. Please, just take a minute to review. C'mon. (:


	13. Chapter 12

THIS TIME, I HAVE A PLOT! My first idea was to have Phoenix move the moon and throw gravity out of whack, but then I realized the planet would probably explode. My second idea was to have Phoenix submerge the continent of North America, but then I realized the planet would, again, explode. Finally in Physics class I hit upon an idea in which... well, half the next chapter's done already. Don't go away!

I decided to try the graphic novel thing again, shortcutting large sections of writing, because this chap's not so exciting yet anyway.

And I'm really sorry this is taking so long, I really am making progress though I'm **busy with school**. **Thank you** to everyone who's been reviewing, THERE IS MORE TO COME!

--

_You don't take orders from anyone._

"Concentrate, Jean!"

Jean awoke. The carpeted floor of Xavier's office swam into focus. There was a tight stiffness in her arms – she realized she'd been clenching her fists.

"I was concentrating," Jean said reflexively. She could hear the whine in her voice, but she didn't really care. Blood was pounding through her ears, and Charles' voice was a distant echo.

"Don't lose your temper. I was just telling you to concentrate."

Jean gritted her teeth. "I _was_ concentrating."

Seated away from her, but within an arm's reach, Marie was fidgeting, studying her fingernails. Jean found she was having to fight to keep her eyeballs from following her movements.

Charles ignored Jean. "Marie, could you read me the time, please?"

Marie flicked her wrist to look at her watch; Jean stared hard down at her own hands. "It's five fifty, professor."

"Then let's call it a day."

Jean started. For a moment, she couldn't believe what she'd heard. "It's ten minutes to six, professor. My two hours aren't up yet."

"Enough for today, Jean."

Jean stood up so fast that it made her dizzy. "Ten minutes. Give me ten more minutes."

When Charles' voice came again, he sounded weary. "You're exhausted, Jean. It's no use."

"I could make a breakthrough today-"

"No, Jean."

_Fatigue has a way of making you into a different animal entirely..._

Jean slapped the back of her chair so hard that she knocked it over. Now Marie stood up too, nervously. "You said you wouldn't control me!"

Now Charles' voice was very level. "Jean. You're shouting at a door. Why? Because what you're hearing is all that's left of me now."

Marie was staring at the catatonic man – what was his name? She couldn't even remember now, had she ever bothered to find out? - looking like she was waiting instructions. Jean knew that Marie couldn't hear what Charles had said.

"I don't enjoy this, Jean. Not having a body. Not being fully alive. So for God's sake, Jean," Charles said bitingly, "control yourself."

Marie cringed, unconsciously bracing herself.

Nothing happened. The catatonic man lay still on the table. Jean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The world began to settle. "I'm sorry, professor," she said.

_Every word, delicately chosen._

Charles didn't say anything. Jean could tell his anger was still smouldering. She'd heard something once, about anger. Some were brawlers – _very mature, knocking over a chair like that –_ and others were bottlers, exactly how a volcano looks an instant before it blows...

To cover the awkward silence, Jean righted her chair and dusted it off. "I'm sorry, Marie."

"'S okay," Marie whispered. It sounded like she'd been holding her breath.

Charles said, "I apologize as well, Jean. There was no need for me to be so harsh earlier on."

"No. You were right. Let's call it a day."

"You know, I think we have a minute or two more. Sit down. Close your eyes." His voice was soothing. "I don't want you to try to clear your mind, because that never works." Jean smiled. Smiling felt almost out of practice. "Just relax, think about whatever comes to mind. I'm going to look away..."

His voice faded off as Jean cast her mind back into the past...

_...until you've no concern left for the here and now. You're two feet into the present but you do believe you have some unfinished business..._

_Phoenix rising._

--

_I remember the night Erik Lensherr left..._

"Jean?" called Charles. He snapped on the hall lights. Jean was still pressed up against the window, and he moved to stand behind her. Outside, the car's headlights came on, cutting twin paths through the pouring rain. The engine started, and the car pulled away, leaving only a fuzzy trail of exhaust to mark that it had ever been there.

Student and teacher stared into the inky night, listening to the far-off thunder, until Jean spoke.

"Is Professor Lehnsherr ever going to come back?"

"I don't know yet, Jean," Charles said gently. "But you know, even friends have differences sometimes."

"I..." Jean's lower lip was trembling. Suddenly she threw herself into his arms. "I didn't want him to go," she sobbed.

"Nor did I, Jean," Charles said heavily, hugging the girl tightly. "Nor did I."

Jean sniffled. "Will you ever leave the school, professor?"

"No, Jean. Never."

"If you ever do..." Jean fixed him with a fiery gaze. "I'll follow you. I'll follow you and bring you back."

"I'll have to hold that to you, Jean," Charles smiled. "Now that's enough for today. Come along."

Charles led her by the hand back to her room. Jean was already yawning as he settled her into bed. As he tucked the covers under her chin, Jean gave him a last sleepy smile.

"I love you, professor," she mumbled drowsily, already half in a dream.

"I love you too, Jean," Charles answered, a lump forming in his throat. He remembered to turn Jean's nightlight on before he closed the door quietly behind him, but not before he'd paused a moment to see how Jean's eyelashes cast lacy shadows on her cheeks in the dim glow. How he loved her – loved her like a daughter – and now she loved him too.

And if only Erik hadn't walked out, Charles couldn't see how things could possibly be any better.

_Xavier's fault._

_Xavier made him go._

_A man was driven out, but Erik Lensherr became Magneto that night._

_And what about you? Who are you? Xavier's fault._

_Cast your mind back..._

--

There's a gaping hole in your memories.

Not because you're forgotten, or anything. Telepaths never forget anything. The mind has been known to make up details or distort what it thinks to be true – dates, sounds, the color of a car. So there's something worrying about the emptiness. As if you just can't reach for what's down there... but why?

The first memory, eating breakfast at your parents' house.

On the other side...

I don't remember the exact details. I was downstairs. I had gone to the kitchen for a glass of milk, because I couldn't sleep and I remembered seeing the milk in the kitchen earlier and Professor Xavier had said I could help myself to anything. It was cold in the kitchen and one of the fluorescent lights was flickering, newly installed and not fully operational yet, so I was bringing the glass with me to the corridor leading to the stairs. I heard Professor Xavier talking to Professor Lensherr, so I stopped and listened.

"We must live lives we are proud to show our children," Professor Xavier was finishing.

"Precisely. Train them up in the way they should go, taking into account _each of their own special talents_..." Professor Lensherr was speaking slowly and clearly, and I could hear every word. "Let them run with what they've been given. Or do you _really_ think that you know better, Charles?" He paused. "Trust them to know their own gifts best. Take, for example... Jean, are you listening to this?"

I jumped. He'd known I was there! I went into the parlor where they sat as slowly as I could.

"Are you listening to this, Jean?" Professor Lensherr repeated, looking at me directly in the eye, like he was calling up some shared secret between us. I didn't know what he meant, and I was beginning to feel uneasy.

"No." My voice trembled.

He blinked. "Jean?"

I burst out, "I'm sorry for listening at the door, Professor Lensherr, I'm really sorry and I won't do it again."

He seemed stymied. "At the door, Jean? But surely..."

Suddenly he seemed to have been seized with a thought. He whirled on Professor Xavier. "You've done something," he growled.

"Yes," Professor Xavier said calmly.

"Charles, when we set up this school, this was not what I had in mind!"

Professor Xavier raised an eyebrow. "You were thinking of an army, perhaps?"

"A liberation force, yes. Not an institution of sycophants."

I shrank back. Even though I didn't know what they were arguing about, I didn't like to see them fighting. My hands began to shake so badly that some milk spilled over the edge onto the floor.

"I'll get something to mop that up with," I stammered, already turning on my heel. Both men were yelling at each other...

_And now I'm remembering more, more than ever previously. Erik Lensherr's distraught, almost hysterical voice, "To educate a mind in the best way we know how, and not to impede it! You've changed her, Charles – you've ruined her!"_

No, no, no – cast your mind back further still...

--

She must've fallen asleep. She'd been so tired... Jean yawned and opened her eyes, expecting to see the foot of her bed.

She was in the professor's office. For a moment she thought she must still be dreaming.

"I thought I ought to let you carry on this time," Charles said, sounding guilty. "You must've been away for an hour, at least. I let Marie go to dinner."

Jean looked at the clock. Eight p.m.

"I gave the matter some more thought and I've decided not to extend your training time just yet, Jean. I can't control you, Jean, but I hope you'll understand."

Jean sighed, took a moment to gather her thoughts before she spoke. "I used to be able do all these things, and now I can't. I don't know if you could understand, but progress is so slow. One step forward, one step back..."

"You always have been a remarkable student, Jean."

Jean swallowed. "And you've always been an exceptional teacher."

"Goodnight, Jean."

"Goodnight," she echoed.

--

For hours Jean lay in her bed and flitted in and out of half-dreams, willing for the sky outside her windows to be light when she opened her eyes again. It was still night each time.

She imagined she was standing before Charles Xavier.

"_I can't control you, Jean."_

Jean tightened her jaw. _That's right, you can't_, she thought.

There was a book on her bedside table, an old paperback of Jane Eyre. One of her favourites. She couldn't see it in the dark, but she knew she'd left it on the very edge of the table. Thinking about the book as little as possible, Jean nudged the book along – she could feel it dragging across the surface of the table, and pushed the thought out of her mind – until it dropped into her lap.

She waited in the darkness for rebuke – _you've been caught_ – or at least some form of acknowledgment. Nothing came.

Empty threats! Or he'd been calling her bluff, and his telepathy wasn't strong enough to pick her up at a distance.

Jean kicked off the covers and turned on the bathroom light. She splashed her face with cold water and studied her reflection in the mirror. She looked fine, healthy, not tired at all.

Time to do some real training, Jean.

The ability did more than feel good – it made her feel herself again. The world about her felt stable. In a single word, it was control.

How could _he_ ever have tried to keep this away from her?

--

Please, please R&R! I love reviews, I love reviewers. I hope this chapter was clear, it's moving the plot onwards towards a curve... I've gotta stop using (...) so much...!


	14. Chapter 13

Sorry this took so long – again, school. I used to write in Physics, but suddenly we started actually learning physics and I had pay attention or Professor Summers would've been ashamed of me, wouldn't he? (Hmm, now I'm taking this too far...) If someone set up Fanfiction College with X-Men as a major, I could drop everything and write, I guess... ;;

I am very pleased with how this chapter turned out. Xavier is a little off, but I'm happy I got some action in!

How many times I have used the word 'Jean'? It's like the comics, when Jean's only line was "Scott!" for_ decades_. By the way, I'm aware Scott would probably never say 'specious prevarication', especially when losing his temper, but lo, such a mellifluous phrase!

Finally, as I type this, I'm about to hit ONE HUNDRED REVIEWS! I never dreamed of this when I was first planning this as a one-shot vignette...You guys are the BEST:D

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Jean awoke, shivering, and jumped as she saw her own face staring back at her. She was in her bathroom, almost to her ankles in cold water, looking into the mirror – she'd fallen asleep on her feet. A stream of water was running from the tap upwards in an arc over her head onto the floor, looping in midair. Water droplets from the shower were bouncing gently off the walls.

Everything else was levitating – her toothbrush, comb, soap, and a few palettes of makeup that were being ruined by the water, bleeding streams of red and black and blue onto the floor.

Jean took a deep breath and the objects fell back down to earth. Other than her numb feet, the rest of her was perfectly dry. Maybe she was dreaming. Still dreaming.

--

In his own room, Scott was turning in his sleep. If he'd been awake, he would have heard the sound of running water from Jean's room down the hall and gone to check on her, but he was deep in a dream of his own.

In his dream, he was in the infirmary, standing behind Jean. Jean opened a drawer and studied the labels of a particolored wall of medications. Eventually she took down a bottle and shook six sleeping pills into her palm.

Scott put out a hand. "Jean, you need to stop. This is the third time this week..."

Jean ignored him. The pills were shaped like diamonds.

He tried to speak again, "If there's something wrong, Jean..."

Small blue diamonds. She put four back into the bottle. "Hmm?"

"Jean..." His voice cracked. "I care about you."

She turned unhurriedly to face him. "I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well. Dreams."

Scott hesitated. "Nightmares?"

Jean shook her head slowly, smiling. "Ambitions."

--

Jean opened her eyes again. She didn't know she'd closed them.

The tap was still running. She didn't even remember turning that on – it was as though someone else entirely had done it. Jean was reaching forward to shut it off, but as she caught sight of her reflection, she felt suddenly curious.

"I can only manipulate the metal in this..." Magneto had begun. _Yes, he'd been there, he'd always been there to witness what she could do..._

"...but you, you can do anything. Anything you can imagine."

_To make her feel powerful._

So where was he? He'd always been there, and she wanted him to be there again when she executed the plan that had suddenly come to mind:

Mutation. It is the key to our evolution. It is how we have evolved from a single-celled organism into the dominant species on the planet. This process is slow, normally taking thousands of years. But every few hundred millenia...

_Let's see if we can't speed that up a bit._

_Phoenix has risen._

--

Still dreaming, Scott was trying to speak again, but the words wouldn't come out. Jean was twitchy, and she wouldn't look him in the eye. Abruptly, Jean said, "You don't remember Annie. I'm not surprised. No one remembers Annie. No one remembers the ones who don't survive." She turned on her heel and left the infirmary.

"Only the strongest survive," Scott called after her. His voice echoed down the empty hallway.

Scott ran to the wall of bottles and began sweeping them off their shelves. When the bottles touched the floor, they burst open, and pills of all shapes and sizes flew out and swarmed around his head like hornets as he screamed, "Jean! Jean! Jean!"

"Jean!"

Scott bolted awake, alone in his bed, screaming. Scott heard the water running in Jean's room, and suddenly knew she was gone.

--

"Logan, wake up. Listen to me carefully."

"Wha- what?" Logan sat up in bed, looking around wildly. Moonlight streamed through the shutters in his room. "Professor?"

The voice coursed through his brain again. "No time to explain. Logan, run as fast as you can and fetch Leech. His room is on the second floor, the east corridor. Go, now!"

His body acted on instinct. Logan swung his legs out of bed and flung his door open – it slammed against the wall, surely waking up half the school – and he ran.

"Second floor, east corridor... third door on your left. Hurry!"

Third door on the left, third door on the left...

"Carry the boy – run down to Cerebro. Take the back stairs!"

He was giving further instructions, but Logan barely heard them. Cold dread clenched and knotted his stomach. He banged open the third door and without breaking his stride, scooped up the sleeping boy.

Other room doors were opening, and students were pouring into the hallways. Marie was standing in his path. "Logan, what's going on?"

"Move!" he yelled hoarsely, shoving students aside clumsily with the boy held in his arms. Some of the younger children were screaming and crying. Leech was waking up and squirming in his grip. Time slowed to a crawl, and the only thing Logan could think of was, _Jean..._

"Auugghh!"

He was facing down the corridor leading to Cerebro, still carrying Leech. A tight pain was shooting up his left leg. He saw spots.

"Professor Logan?" Leech gasped.

Down the end of the hall, the reinforced steel doors of Cerebro slid open. Jean stood in the doorway, half smiling to herself. "Logan."

"Jean?"

Not a flicker in her expression. Not Jean.

"Hold onto the boy, Logan. Don't come any closer."

Logan took a step forward, and the pain in his leg became so excruciating that it buckled beneath him.

"Don't disobey me, Logan. Any closer, and the boy will be the next to have a torn tendon. And right now he hasn't got a healing factor either."

Logan gasped for breath, clutching his leg. "Jean, stop. You're not yourself. You don't realize what you're doing..."

"Don't stand in her way, Logan," Xavier's voice rang out in his mind again.

Phoenix tilted her head slightly. Listening in.

"I'm sorry, Logan. It's too late. Let her go."

"Professor!"

"Logan, you can't stop her now. She will hurt you and Leech if you try. Let her go."

Logan gritted his teeth. "No!"

He lifted his leg to venture shaky step forward, but found his body turning, so that he took a step in the opposite direction. "Stop... controlling me..." he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort of trying to resist.

Phoenix raised a hand carelessly. Farewell.

And then without warning, a pair of hands wrapped around Logan's throat, throttling him. The hands were his own, he dimly realized, before he passed out.

--

When Leech ran downstairs with Moira MacTaggert hot on his heels, Scott was already kneeling by Logan's prone body, shaking him roughly awake.

"Where is she? Where did she go?" Scott yelled hoarsely, throat too dry to cry out, as Logan came to.

Moira laid a hand on Scott's shoulder. Hers eyes were closed as Xavier spoke through her, "Scott, calm down."

Logan whirled on Moira. "What did you do this time, Xavier? She was _fine_, she was herself again until tonight!"

"I... I let her go. I couldn't stop her. None of us could."

Scott lost it. "I've had it with your specious prevarication, Xavier! You tell us what's going on right now, or - " Logan restrained him.

Moira-as-Xavier spoke rapidly. "I think I've figured it out. Jean naturally fights against the other side of her personality, but when she's asleep, the Phoenix exerts greater control. Tonight, the Phoenix broke out again."

"But you can't stop a person from sleeping," Logan argued.

"No," said Moira-Xavier, "but you can keep her from waking up again. The Phoenix is the preponderant – "

With a strangled yell, Scott slammed his fist against a wall. "If you knew it was going to happen again, why didn't you make a plan earlier?"

"She broke the code of telepathy – that's trust. Jean would never have done that – she wanted to change, she promised not to test the boundaries. I knew I was not capable of stopping the Phoenix's revolt, but as long as Jean herself could hold it back... You fight fire with fire, but now we aren't dealing with Jean anymore."

"She came out of Cerebro. Who was she looking for?" Scott burst out, unable to keep a sob out of his voice.

Moira concentrated. "I picked up her thoughts. Erik... Magneto. I assume he's been in hiding. He and Jean were very close."

"I'll go after her," Logan said immediately. Scott exchanged a look with him and for the first time, the two were united in their resolve. "There must be some way..."

"No. I don't know where Magneto is, and I need to physically be in contact with Cerebro in order to run a search."

With his next words, Xavier's voice went directly to Logan and Scott, bypassing Moira so she wouldn't hear him. "But what troubles me, is that I'm certain we'll see him and Jean very soon."

--

**Please keep reading and reviewing! I do this for all of you. :D**


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Told you I wasn't on hiatus... I have big plans for this fic, and I'm gonna keep writing if people keep reading… and reviewing, inevitably. (: So if you like it and you want more, REVIEW!

A more happily action-packed chappie to make up for six months of silence (finally done with junior year!). The prose style is spare, because I still have a jam-packed summer ahead of me. Song used is Rise Up by Third Day. Oh, the symbolism, it hits you between the eyes!

--

"It sometimes feels as if "real life" is about how we deal with whatever is thrown our way while we journey on... on through the triumphs, on through the failures, and on through the status quo. Real life. It is so hard to move on with it when we feel so dead inside. Every ounce of energy depleted, every ray of hope gone, every thing empty. But there exists a voice. One that our hearts recognize. One that calls us out of our tomb, and revives our hope, and restores our strength. "Rise Up" and "keep going" He shouts. This is not the end. We have only just begun. This song wraps up the message of hope that we are striving to communicate, and the truth that God will meet you Wherever You Are… it sends you on your way, ready to embrace all that "Real Life" has to offer." - Brad Avery (Third Day)

--

A day passed without a sign.

After a conference with Moira and Xavier, Hank had gone into Jean's room to try to scrounge up some clue as to her whereabouts. He found Logan and Scott already there, quarrelling violently and all but throwing the furniture at each other. Hank broke them apart, assigning Scott Jean's bedroom and Logan the bathroom, dividing himself between the two. He didn't envy Logan's job. The floor was flooded with cold, murky water mixed with makeup, perfume, toothpaste, and other toiletries that had been on the dresser. The ceiling and walls were streaked with the same. Every surface looked like it was dripping with vomit. There was something gruesome about the whole thing.

Logan cleaned up silently, only directing the stray mutter Scott's way. But Scott himself was on edge. Neither of them had been able to go back to sleep the night before.

When Hank couldn't take it anymore he fished out his Zen player and turned up the volume, drowning out the constant bickering going on over his head.

_Well, I was there when you were torn apart_

_Now a piece of you is gone_

_Somehow you wish that you could only find_

_A little strength to carry on_

Turning over Jean's room took the three men a full day. They found nothing.

--

_You've tried so hard to make it on your own_

_That your heart has come undone_

_So I am here to prove that I alone_

_Have the power to overcome_

Saturday came the next morning, and there was still no word.

For the umpteenth time that year, Ororo laboriously rearranged the school's timetables to accommodate the loss of another teacher. She dumped all of Jean's chemistry classes on Scott, pushed some of Scott's algebra classes onto Logan, and finally absorbed as many of Jean's biology classes into her own schedule, piled on top of a full history, geography, and ethics classload. Goodness knows she had only been through high school biology herself, scraping through with a lot of help from Jean, but she had a school to run. Her school. And if that meant night after night of re-teaching herself everything from photosynthesis to DNA, well, so be it. Sacrifices would just have to be made.

Cleaning out her closet, she came across the handbag Jean had bought her as a birthday present (A/N: Remember this prop from Chapter 7? I enjoy tormenting Storm so much that I'm going to butt in on her emotional and ethical moment here). That seemed so long ago. Ororo bit her lip, hesitating. She'd loved that bag. It was a killer combo for fall. No need to hold back in the fall and limit her wardrobe to browns and beiges, she went for some color. Still in the earth tone family, the Azzardo green leather was a stunning option. The top handle featured lush leather braided detail and tan suede lined the inside. Completely elegant, easy to put over her shoulder, and a stunning shade… (A/N: "What the fudgemuffin?" you cry. Review taken from purseblog dot com!) Finally making up her mind, Ororo swore and tossed the bag into the furthest corner of her closet and buried it under some larger bags she never carried anymore (like her Juicy Couture bags. No wait, of course Ororo _never_ outgrew her Juicy Couture bags!). She wouldn't carry that bag again.

(Ororo caught the author making since comments. Ororo caused the author grave bodily harm. Ororo has an inadequate sense of humor.)

--

_Don't let your heart be troubled_

_This world will never keep you down_

_It will never keep you down_

On the third day, the San Francisco Federal District Courts had a special delivery. Four vans of felons, accompanied by the highest security forces, being brought to court, top priority. The survivors of the Alcatraz incident.

Pyro was among that number, and he was at his moodiest. All the police officers had been specifically instructed not to carry lighters with them, and two officers carrying heavy-duty fire extinguishers flanked the teenager on either side.

Here he was, hands chained behind his back, being marched into court like a common criminal. Pyro sneered. The Alcatraz trials would be a farce.

"Move along," blared an officer, yanking him forward.

Pyro struggled. "You've got nothing against me," he shot back. "I'm a minor. This court has no jurisdiction."

"Shut up, mutie," the officer snapped, shoving him hard between his shoulder blades. Pyro stumbled, but regained his balance and carried on, head held obstinately high.

How had things gone so wrong? Because he'd cast in his lot with the wrong people, all over again. First his screwed up family had made him go to Xavier's, where the teachers kept watch over him twenty-four hours a day and that damn Professor treated kids like they were retards. Then he'd joined Magneto's brotherhood, where his talents and focus had ensured his quick advance up the ranks. But the next thing he knew, he was being dragged out from under a burning car by – could it really have been Bobby? Yes, it must've been, because only Bobby would've gone that far for him only to turn him over to the feds. He hadn't really been hurt, except for his pride. But now he was facing up to life imprisonment just for being on the wrong side.

Despite all that, Pyro knew he'd never strike out solo. He wasn't your typical team player, but he worked better when he knew someone would be watching his back. What he needed – what the whole Brotherhood needed – was real leadership. The way Germany had needed Hitler. Someone in their time of need would rise up. But even then, Pyro hated waiting…

A flash of fiery red caught his eye.

"Hear me now, Brotherhood!" a strong, clear voice rang out.

A woman, sheathed in a stunning skin-tight red costume – Pyro couldn't help following the plunge of that neckline – stood, resplendent, at the end of the marbled vault. Pyro blinked.

It couldn't be…!

"I am… Phoenix." Her voice was eerily quiet, and her gaze was level as she looked Pyro directly in the eye. "And I am fire and life incarnate."

Pyro stood rooted to the ground, in shock. Phoenix – Dr. Grey…?! And then he heard it almost before he saw her move. One of his favorite sounds in the world.

It was the sound of a match being struck.

Phoenix winked. Posing for the cameras.

Pyro didn't have to think twice.

The fire that flooded the courts was glorious.

--

_So rise up, my friend_

_No, this will never be the end_

_So rise up, my friend_

_And live again_

Hank was jogging past the front lawn in the afternoon sun when news reached him in the form of Kitty, running breathlessly straight through the lawn. He pulled his headphones off.

"Dr McCoy!" Kitty gasped, clutching at her side. "You have to come – the news – Professor X says everyone – has to come in – _now_!" Without waiting to see if he would follow, she ran straight back through the front wall of the Mansion. Hank envisioned her pounding up the stairs.

Hank ran to the television room as fast as his feet could carry him. It was already full, but deathly silent. The air was full of fear.

On the news, there was a replay some kind of conflagration. Some official-looking building. The streets of San Francisco were already choked with thick, rolling black smoke. There was a great deal of shouting and confusion.

And then a woman in red stepped from the ashes.

"No…" Hank whispered. "No, no, no…"

A headline flashed across the screen. MUTANTS TORCH FEDERAL COURTS!

"No… oh, God, please, no…"

"And now, taking you back live to the scene as events are unfolding right now…"

--

"Make sure all of our numbers are free," Phoenix said.

Pyro nodded, throwing flames left and right. "What're we trying to achieve here?"

"An impression. A strong one."

"I'm up for taking over the world, even on short notice," Pyro joked.

Phoenix's gaze was steely. "Today you are to defend me, no more, no less. The world will remember us today."

_I didn't want you to feel this way_

_It's not what life was meant to be_

_And so for you, my friend, I'll take your shame_

_You can give it all to me_

A band of mutants burst out of the burning building, spluttering and choking. As one they turned to look at Phoenix, some readying themselves for a fight. Phoenix raised her arms in welcome.

"Fly!" she commanded. "Be free! And let no one hold you captive again!"

Pyro saw the hesitation. "Go!" he shouted.

The rest of the Brotherhood took off, with cries of "Mutant rights now!" and "Homo superi_or_!" Yet Phoenix held her ground. Police reinforcements and firemen were beginning to arrive.

"Phoenix, why are we staying?"

"Do not go far," was all she said.

And still Phoenix did nothing, even as she was looking with disinterest down the ring of dozens of gun barrels pointing directly at them.

"Freeze!" a cop yelled.

"Burn," Pyro snarled, and hurled another fireball.

--

"It seems as though the ringleader of the Alcatraz attacks, once presumed dead, has returned…"

It certainly looked like Jean… Something about the situation didn't strike Hank as right. He glanced around the room. Moira shrugged at him helplessly. Logan wouldn't meet his eyes. Scott just looked stared emotionlessly at the television, fires reflecting in his glasses.

"Breaking news: police have cornered two mutants, identified as Phoenix and Pyro…"

--

Phoenix took a step behind Pyro, shielding herself behind him. Cold sweat ran down Pyro's back, and his skin crawled. _Can you read my mind?_ He thought. _Can't you _do_ something?_

"Move again and we'll shoot," shouted a cop. Pyro could hear a helicopter approaching, pulling up beside the news chopper.

"Phoenix," Pyro muttered, "Make a move."

She struck another match.

Pyro tensed and unleashed the hottest wave of fire he could. Hundreds of bullets, melted soft by the flames, bounced off him and stuck slightly to the ground.

"Phoenix!" Pyro whispered hoarsely. "I can't keep doing this!"

The second wave of bullets came, and he released another round of fire. This time they struck hard enough to bruise. Panic pulsed through his veins.

"Save us!" Pyro screamed. "Phoenix!"

They would be his last words.

--

_'Cause you've wrestled demons every day_

_And they've dragged you to your knees_

_But in your weakness you will learn to find_

_That I will always be your strength_

The van with darkened windows pulled up outside the gates of Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters, not even turning up the driveway. Hank ran down to meet it.

"I'm Dr. McCoy," he explained to the driver, who rolled his window down less than halfway. "If you could just tell Tyson that I really appreciate this favour…"

"Our boss isn't interested," the driver said curtly. "You got five minutes in the back of the van. That's it."

Hank nodded and the driver unlocked the van doors. Stepping inside, Hank briskly lifted the lid off a long unmarked wooden box. The stench of blood immediately reached his nose, making his head spin.

The body was sealed in a clear plastic bag, but the blood… the blood was everywhere. The body was riddled with so many bullet holes that it looked as though it had burst. Even then, there was no mistaking that face.

"Jean Grey," Hank murmured.

He could hear the driver protesting something, and then Moira, Scott, and Logan squeezed into the van with him. He looked at them wordlessly.

"No brain activity," Moira said. "I can't be sure… but I am."

"Blood," Logan said hoarsely. Hank understood.

Hank said, gently, "Scott?"

Scott took a sharp breath, as if to speak, but didn't. A moment later, he took another. And another. He cracked a hysterical, lopsided smile that turned into a laugh.

"He's going into shock," Moira said, urgently. "We have to get him out of here."

The driver pounded on the wall separating the front from the back of the van. Hank clapped the box shut. Together, he and Logan half-carried the other man out of the van. As soon as Moira had slammed the door, the van pulled away.

They lay Scott down right there on the road, propping up his legs. Logan pulled off his jacket and threw it over him. Moira grasped his hand.

"Jean!" Scott was shrieking, convulsing, laughing. "Jean!"

"Shh, shh," Moira said soothingly, "look at me, Scott. Just look at me."

He couldn't. He just couldn't. And he never stopped screaming, "Jean! Can you hear me? Jean! Jean!"

--

_In life or in death_

_Through joy or regret_

_And all of the secret things you have done_

_No matter what comes, my friend_

_Nothing can keep you from the love of God_

--

**A/N: **_But it doesn't end there! _The next instalment, explaining even Jean's ridiculous costume (btw, her somewhat cheesy entrance lines are adapted from Uncanny 134), to come sooner as you hit that review button. :D It only takes a second and it sends a whole lot of love…


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